


The Specimen

by calibratingentropy



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, F/M, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Multi, Nonhuman Hermann, Other, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Torture, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 95,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calibratingentropy/pseuds/calibratingentropy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They captured a "miniature Kaiju" off the California coast, and Newt just had to have it, even if it wasn't actually a Kaiju at all. He really didn't think this one through, because the longer he spends around his specimen, the more doesn't add up. And the more certain he gets that no one would believe him if he told them what he's pretty sure is the real answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the kink-meme prompt: 
> 
> http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/2747.html?thread=3712443#t3712443
> 
> "Because there have been some lovely non-human Hermann fills, I just want a slight variation. Hermann wasn't just non-human, he was also a specimen. 
> 
> Say he's an Earth-native aquatic/amphibious monster who happened to surface early in the war, at exactly the right time for panicky humans to flip out and think he's a mini-kaiju or something. After a live capture and an extremely horrible few months of experimentation (which results in the leg), he gets acquired by the head K-researcher aka Newton Geizsler, who finally figures out that Hermann is a) not a kaiju, b) not a bloodthirsty monster, at least not before spending a couple of months in a tank being tortured, and c) kind of a mathematical genius who might be able to help them out with their whole 'invading alien' problem. Provided, of course, that Newt can undo the damage caused by said months of torture and the fact that Hermann was a cranky bastard even before being given some very, very good reasons to be unfriendly.
> 
> Bonuses: Tendo is always a bonus to my mind. In whatever capacity. Also Kaidanovskys.
> 
> I am A-Okay with Newt/Hermann romance, but gen with trust-issues and friendship is also right up my alley. I could also go for Newt/Hermann/Tendo."

**Day -35**

_Excerpts from the notes made by Dr. Marcus of the research vessel Calliope:_

Survey of extensive damage of Kaiju blue to the California coastline continues. Notably there have been a large number of sightings of vagrants outside natural ranges, including pinnipeds, cetaceans, fish, and seabirds. Most show signs of early Kaiju blue poisoning. Also recovered was one anomalous specimen.

Attached are images of the anomaly. Note how it does not match any described species. Visible are four webbed limbs, a horizontally fluked tail, fur, scales along the limbs, what may be underdeveloped gills, and apparent bioluminescence. Anomaly is injured, with fishing line wrapped around the right hind limb and does not show noticeable signs of Kaiju blue poisoning.

**Day -27**

Anomaly confirmed to not belong to any known clade or family. Possesses traits found in both mammals and fish. X-rays show a greatly reduced second pelvis in the tail, and skeletal supports for the tail flukes. Initial hypothesis is that the anomaly is not native to Earth.

Tests show that gills are fully functional and can function in sync with or separately from the lungs. 

Combative tendencies while conscious. Must be restrained for samples. Suggesting implementing constant restraints for ease of study.

Anomaly does not react well to sedation. Specimen lost control over the airways and gills and had to be resuscitated. Do not recommend sedation again.

Removal of the fishing line was deemed necessary to prolong viability for testing. Anomaly broke the right hind limb and the tank during the procedure. Three technicians injured, one severely. Resulting damage to anomaly’s leg is not judged to be detrimental to continued experimentation at this time, and the risk of care is too great to the staff. 

**Day -25**

A second specimen has been recovered. This one has been judged to be female, and had a fetus in an advanced stage of development in what appears to be a ventral pouch. Second specimen was also tangled in fishing line, more severely than the first.

Again, no signs of Kaiju blue poisoning. Given the unique and alien nature of these creatures and the lack of the ubiquitous poisoning, it is likely that they are some new, smaller, breed of Kaiju. 

First specimen vocalized when the second was brought in for further study. It broke the second tank and injured the right hind further, apparently in an attempt to reach the second specimen. 

Electrocution proved successful in creating temporary paralysis, allowing the specimen to be put in the final intact tank large enough for it. Blocking line of site reduced the frequency of violent outbursts, but not of the vocalizations. 

Full recordings of the vocalizations have been made for the record, minus the first thirty seconds.

**Day -15**

Dissection of the second specimen is complete. Data collected will double the amount known on the Kaiju, given some extrapolation for the larger variety. Specimen had a very complex neural structure, and a large brain with an advanced frontal cortex. Possibly intelligent, on the level of a chimpanzee or a dolphin. 

First specimen has not been feeding for several days and is showing rapid weight-loss; more aggressive feeding methods may become necessary. 

Today, took samples of bone marrow from the first specimen. Also made recordings of vocalizations during the procedure. The bone marrow may unlock a way to create resistance to the worst of the Kaiju blue poisoning. 

May introduce Kaiju blue into the tank to study the effects. 

**Day -7**

Inserted feeding tube two days ago and it is progressing well. Specimen is constantly restrained to keep the tube in place. 

No progress on blood samples or bone marrow in regards to Kaiju blue. Will start introducing Kaiju blue into the tank in a few days. 

**Day 0, Los Angeles Shatterdome**

“They have a _what_?” Newton Geiszler didn’t know if he was going to strangle someone for not telling him sooner or pass out from excitement. Maybe both, and not necessarily in that order. Marshall Pentecost was still new to the position as head of the new LA Shatterdome, and Newt hadn’t fully cracked his facial expressions yet, but Newt was ninety precent positive that the man was distinctly unimpressed.

He had his doubts already about it being an actual Kaiju, but a completely unknown species like that, in the Pacific? Maybe it was some kind of symbiote or parasite, and had hitched a ride on one of the Kaiju. He hadn’t gotten his hands on an intact specimen one of the skin parasites they’d found yet, but oh man, did he want to. If this was anything similar, Newt just _had_ to see for himself. 

“And you didn’t even tell me? No, no, no. That’s just not right! Who is this Dr. Marcus anyway? Is he a Kaiju expert?”

“Dr. Geiszler--” 

Newt put his hands down on the desk hard, trying to look impressive. He was pretty sure he was failing miserably, but whatever. “Don’t doctor. me, Marshall. If we have a Kaiju, or anything related to Kaiju, I need it. Like yesterday!”

“Dr. Marcus is researching possible cures to Kaiju blue poisoning. He claims the specimen--”

Interrupting was rude, but Newt so didn’t give a damn. “What’s more important, stopping Kaiju blue or stopping the Kaiju bringing more of it? Actually, don’t answer that. They’re both important, but I can do my research and his at the same time! If this is related to Kaiju at all, I _need_ it. Alive and intact and he’d better have been taking good care of it!” 

It was like an itch that he desperately needed to scratch. Would it be silicone-based, like the Kaiju? How toxic was it? How the hell had they kept it alive for a month when the skin parasites had died usually before they could even get to the corpse and start collecting samples? Newt decided he needed to change tactics and fixed the Marshall with his best sad puppy-eyed look. He knew it was good; he’d practiced in the mirror. 

“I will see what I can do, Dr. Geiszler.” 

From the sigh that accompanied that, Newt knew that he couldn’t push any more probably, so he let it end there, promising himself that he’d check back for updates in a few hours. He had so much to do to prepare the lab for his new guest! There was no doubt in his mind that he’d get it, of course, even if he had to wheedle and beg for weeks. No one could stand up to his puppy-face or whining, mostly the whining if he was feeling honest, forever. A live specimen; it made him want to dance around the room with glee.


	2. First Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As advance warning, a couple small references to euthanasia in this chapter.

**Day 2, ???**

Pain. Pain, grief. Pain, dark. _Pain_.

The water was too still in the clear shell trapping him. Like dead water. Dead like his mate, and his child. He couldn’t even move. There were ropes of the hard not-stone that made up the floating caves wrapped too painfully tight around his legs, his tail, his body and neck. They hurt, chafing off his scales and making him bleed. The weight of everything pulled him down, cutting more ropes into his belly, and there was something hard forced between his teeth that made his jaw _ache_ , and kept him from biting down on the _horrid thing_ filling up his throat. 

The two-legged monsters that lived in the floating caves instead of swimming like real people had put slush that smelled like food through it. They weren’t going to let him join his mate, or escape any of the pain they made him endure. They were just as cruel, greedy, and vile as the songs said. 

Then the shell jerked and shuddered around him. The movement made the water slosh in some twisted parody of life. But there was no real life here. All he could smell-taste was himself, his blood and own stale filth that he hadn’t even been allowed to swim away from. And the poison in the water. It wasn’t thick enough to see yet, like in the places he’d been trying to avoid when all of this had started, but he could feel the burn in every cut and gash. It was the poison that the terrors from the darkest deep exuded from every part, and spread like a plague on their swims to the shores. Worse near the shallows, and he’d despaired finding a safe place for their child to enter the world. Now he despaired ever leaving the deeps that he’d claimed as hunting grounds with his beautiful, brave mate. First hunger, then the two-legged’s tangle-traps, and then--

He closed his eyes as the water stilled, not wanting to remember. The shell would jerk again soon, and each jerk settled dread deeper into his bones. There was no way to measure time in the floating caves, and he did not know how long ago they had covered the shell to block the light, but the shell had started jerking then with so much more than the ever so faint movement of the sea under the floating cave. Even that scant comfort had been torn away and now he couldn’t begin to guess what was happening outside the shell. Sound made no sense, and movement even less. 

He was afraid. 

Another jerk startled him, and it was so much worse than the others. It felt like the shell was being rocked in the waves that storms near the shallows brought to a froth. Pain from his leg swarmed up the rest of his body and he screamed in agony. A good hunter was a quiet one, and he hadn’t been so loud about his pain since he had been very small and still learning to swim in his mother’s wake. His own cry bounced back at him, distorted and strange, and then he heard the odd chattering of the two-legged monsters outside the shell. 

Now that he was trapped among them, he’d learned that he could tell individuals apart by their chattering, just as he could with the songs of the people. This chatter was a different one, new and high, so it must mean a new two-legged monster. Another one come to hurt and demean him? 

He moaned at the thought, not caring that he was voicing a child’s desperate plea for a parent’s comfort. He didn’t feel like an adult now, hunter and measurer of the world, with a mate and soon to be a father. He wasn’t any of those things anymore, bound in a clear shell with mate and child murdered while he could only scream in helpless grief. He felt so small, lost, hurt, and afraid. 

He’d never felt so alone. 

He moaned again, louder, hoping against hope that the sound would carry outside the shell and the floating cave and reach into the water. He hoped against hope that someone, anyone, would come to his aid. Even if it was one of the noxious, pompous harem keepers of the northern sea, he would gladly submit to the indignity just for a few moments free of this.

And someone did come, but not one of the people. The covering blocking the light moved aside and one of the monsters was there. It was small, or maybe young, compared to the ones that had caused him so much pain, and the billowy false-skin draped over its body was white, except for a strange, thin tendril at the base of the throat. It chattered like they all did, but it was looking right at him instead of the other monsters behind it. For a moment he could almost pretend it was a real person, singing the short song in response to his calls. 

But it was a monster, and not any kind of person at all. He moaned again, trembling and desperate. He wanted his mate, his mother, a _person_. 

The monster pressed forward, flattening its forelimbs against the shell, and chattered again, this time more softly. Then, just as suddenly, it turned and started chattering extremely loud and fast at the other monsters. 

At one of them in particular, he noticed, and though this new one was small, it wasn’t afraid. It had gotten close, too short neck jutting its head forward and flat teeth bared. With a horrid jerk inside he realized which monster this new one was approaching so aggressively. It was _that_ monster; the one that had hurt him, bound him, put so many painful things into and through him and torn pieces from his body. The vile creature that had cut _his child from his mate’s body._

Rage and hate burned up, purifying the pain away to a distant throb. He wanted to kill it, and sang out the worst insults and threats he could think of. He wanted to kill them all in that moment and struggled with all his strength against the hard ropes, thrashing and twisting until the water frothed. But as suddenly as the rage had come, it left, and the pain washed back in like the great waves that sometimes formed after the sea floor shook. His leg was grinding inside and it made his vision go dark as his voice lifted against his will in agony. 

As the world grew distant and dim he saw the smaller monster attack the other and feverishly wished the stories his mother had sung to him could come true, and that it could transform into a real person to bring him relief from this nightmare. 

**Day 2, Newt**

Newt wanted to break that smug bastard’s nose. Doctor, his ass. Unethical, inhumane jerk! One look and he could tell the specimen’s leg was way fucked up, and since this Marcus guy had it restrained there was no excuse for not fixing it. No excuse at all for not treating it as well as possible, and that bastard so hadn’t been treating it well at all, if things were even half as bad as they looked. There were _reasons_ for all the regulations about live specimens, and they were one of the few rules Newt followed gladly and even made effort to go above and beyond when he could. So when he’d heard those sounds from the tank, and saw what was inside, he felt like shit. It had made his stomach churn, and really put a damper on his excitement. Not completely, but still... 

He had no idea where to begin reversing this. Not really. He knew he had to do something about that leg of course, and the tank too. It looked kind of cramped, and the water was gross, especially towards the bottom. Where to start, though? Not a real clue to be had. Newt grumbled to himself and put his shoulder against the tank to start it moving again. It was heavy as hell and he didn’t have any interns left. In fact, the closest thing he had to an actual colleague was the biochemist down the hall and he was sure she was avoiding the hell out of him and wouldn’t help. Her loss. 

And suddenly the tank was moving a lot easier and Newt almost stumbled with a yelp. Wha--oh. “Marshall?” 

Marshall Pentecost was looking straight ahead and Newt felt maybe a little like a kid caught breaking grandma’s favorite vase. Just a little. And he had that disappointed tone of voice down too. “Shoving Dr. Marcus wasn’t professional behavior.” 

Newt felt his temper rise again. “Abusing a _live_ specimen isn’t professional behavior either. Just look at its leg! That’s breaking actual laws.” 

But the Marshall had the best poker face, and if he had any personal opinions on that, he was keeping them to himself. Newt recognized the counter argument very well, with a heavy feeling of disquiet at hearing it again in Pentecost’s voice. “Not everyone shares your appreciation for the Kaiju. There are those who would argue--” 

“Not a Kaiju!” Because that had felt like a dig at him, but Newt was almost regretting opening his mouth. Damage control, quick! “Jury’s still out on it being a parasite or whatever, but there’s no way it’s a Kaiju.” 

And that was a suspicious eyebrow raise in return. Shit. “Come on. Have you ever seen a Kaiju bleed red? You are talking to the foremost Kaiju expert in the world here.” 

“I’m more concerned about when you made that particular discovery.” 

Newt recognized that tone. This was turning into another warning about wasting PPDC resources all of a sudden. “One hundred percent sure? Not until about five minutes ago. The parasite theory is still holding water--” Less and less with each passing minute, but whatever. “And even if it is Earth-native, think about what a completely unheard of species being forced into human contact _means_. If we can trace where it’s been we might get a clue about where the Kaiju are coming from. We both know how huge that would be.” 

“Dr. Geiszler.” The Marshall stopped pushing, and Newt ended up bumping his glasses into the tank when he stumbled. Marshall Pentecost straightened his already perfect uniform and gave Newt a perfectly calm look that still managed to be scary. 

“You are my brightest, and my very best in your areas of study. I can tolerate most of your excesses and eccentricities and I know that I can trust your judgement. But I will remind you of how difficult it was to get you this specimen.” 

Marshall Pentecost might as well have been shouting ‘Don’t you dare let me down.’ And Newt didn’t believe in leaving things unsaid, so he straightened up, and screw anybody who said he couldn’t be serious. He could be serious and excited at the same time. “I won’t let you down! Unless I’m dead or something. But this beauty is going to open up some really exciting new avenues for us, I can feel it.” 

Whatever the Marshall was going to say in response to that was lost to Newt when the specimen started regaining consciousness, twitching and making that low, sad sound that made his heart clench. Maybe Newt was imagining it, but it sounded pained and scared. Of course it was pained, and he needed to do something about that asap, so that part wasn’t his imagination, at least. Newt had to bite his lip and lifted his chin to look it in the eyes. They were big, bright gold, and set in the head in a way that made Newt sure this species had really excellent vision. And completely gorgeous in a way only new discoveries could be. 

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted with it.” By the time Marshall Pentecost’s voice penetrated his brain and got Newt to turn, the Marshall was already halfway down the hall. “But I still expect that new report on Kaiju muscular-skeletal weak-points by fourteen hundred tomorrow.”

Newt had to force himself not to look back into those eyes, but it was hard. “Yeah, sure. I’m almost done. Just one little thing left.”

Like actually turning his data into a readable report. Only the most boring and tedious part of research. No sleep tonight. 

And on top of that, he still had to get the tank the rest of the way down the hall to his lab. No rest for the brilliant. Newt sighed and rubbed his hands together before glancing up at his specimen. “Looks like we’re in for a long day and an even longer night, you and me. Better brace yourself; there’s that stupid bump across the door to my lab that they refuse to get rid of and we’ve got to get you over that.” 

The specimen made that sound again and Newt shuddered. “I’m so getting you some aspirin, first thing. Poor guy.” 

Newt put his shoulder to the tank, and for a while his world shrank to the effort of pushing the heavy tank along. Still, it was with exhausted pride that he arranged the tank in the spot he’d been preparing since he knew for sure he’d be getting his new guest. 

His guest wasn’t too happy, though. It had been getting more and more agitated once they got over the threshold, making that sound again and a few others, and now Newt was sure that it was scared. It was shaking like a leaf inside the tank, for god’s sake, and it made Newt feel sick to his stomach. 

He was strongly reminded right now of a dog he’d had when he was a kid. His only real friend outside his family, because kids just didn’t _get_ being different. His uncle had called the dog a rescue, but Newt hadn’t known enough then to connect what that implied to the way his new friend would sometimes just shake and whine in fear. Newt had eventually learned how to help his dog through it, but he didn’t think the specimen would fit into his lap. 

So he pulled up his chair instead and stood on it to get eye level. Then he let his forehead rest against the glass and started rambling in his best soothing, soft voice. 

“Hey, buddy. I know you’re scared and I bet that leg hurts like a bitch. But don’t worry; I’ve got you covered. We’re gonna figure out a safe dose of painkillers for you and then I’m gonna raid medical. Get some splints or something for your leg.” 

“I’d say a cast, but you’re aquatic and I don’t think they make casts for that. Hell, I’d even get you a vet if I knew where to look. But I have no idea who’d make housecalls for an unknown species everybody thinks is a Kaiju. Sorry about that, by the way. People just don’t understand.”

He took a breath. “I hope it heals right, because looking at it, damn, it looks awful. Like maybe it needs pins or screws and I’m so not qualified for that. So we’ll just have to hope together, right? And look at that. You’re not shaking so bad anymore. Good old Geiszler charm is working it’s magic.” 

“Anyway, after your leg is taken care of, we’ll get you out of those chains. And clean the tank too. The ocean around here is probably too blue contaminated but I can whip up something with the right Ph balance and mineral content for you. And food! I’ll have to blow some cash and see what I can find. I bet they just weren’t trying to feed you the right things. I really want to get that tube out of you for good. ‘Cause if I can’t--” 

Bad thoughts, but talking calmed him down too. “You know what, we’re not going to think about the bad end scenarios here. You’ve beaten those shakes so score one for Newt. Hey, have I told you you’re beaut--” 

\--shit! Newt hadn’t expected the specimen to suddenly lunge (try and fail, really) at him like that and start making a whole bunch of noise. He yelped in surprise when his jerk back sent the chair rolling right out from under him, and ended up on the floor with a sore head and tailbone. Ow. 

And the specimen didn’t look too hot either. The noise it was making now was high and thin, and it was curled up on itself as much as the chains allowed, which really wasn’t much. 

Newt didn’t want to risk setting it off again, so he backed up a bit and decided that maybe he should go and do the things he’d been talking about. Of course, he’d always been a vocal guy, and talking through things helped him think and problem-solve, so he gave the specimen a run-down as he walked out the door, and promised he’d be back as soon as he could. 

And that so didn’t go as planned, when did it ever, because the techs down in medical didn’t want to give him the supplies he needed. He did _not_ abuse the imaging equipment! He totally made sure it was pristine and everything exactly where it should be every time he borrowed it. Thinking of, he totally had to get some imaging done on the specimen. A parallel lungs-gills set up like that--It blew his mind in the best way and he was desperate for a peak. As non-invasive as possible, of course. Maybe he’d start with an ultrasound; those were portable. 

He pondered the merits of that idea while he argued with the techs, and then tracked down some contacts while they made him sit and wait. After an eternity, Newt was finally ready for the next step, or as ready as he could be, never having set a leg before. And he’d even gotten confirmation on the aspirin question. So Newt was in a good mood, at least until he had to shoo out some curious personnel. 

It didn’t take much to get them to leave, really, but Newt decided he needed to nip that in the bud. So he spent a few minutes thinking up the best wording for a note on the door. 

He was proud of what he came up with, and grinned at the thought of people’s faces when they read it. “No gawking at my specimen. I’ll get revenge. Creatively.” 

That should put the fear of Newt into them, and he happily told his specimen so as he got down to business. 

The specimen spat a stream of clicks and whistles at him and Newt scrambled for his recorder. He so needed to document the sounds it made. They were fascinating. Of course, the specimen had shut up by the time he was ready. Newt knew it, him, couldn’t understand him, but he tried wheedling anyway.

“Aw, come on, buddy. Don’t be a grump and leave me hanging. Show me your vocal repertoire.”

And that didn’t get as much vocalizing in return, but huh. “Response to auditory stimulus?”

And okay, maybe so. That got more sounds, and very similar to the last grouping. Newt grinned. “That sounds like a pattern, buddy. Show me again?”

Same sounds again, but louder. Wow. Awesome. And he had it all recorded too! This was-- Well, he wasn’t sure, but Newt needed to play with it more. It was like a question and answer deal, almost. How would it, he, react if Newt tried mimicking the sounds? Only one way to find out!

Newt was a pretty amazing mimic, if he did say so himself, and the vocal training he’d got as a child with musically inclined parents had helped. So while he ground up aspirin and measured out the right dose into some water--might as well make use of that tube before he took it out and dissolved aspirin should be absorbed quicker--he pondered how to reproduce the sounds. It was harder than he would have thought, because there were some really different vocal apparatus involved. Probably similar to dolphins and whales, if he had to guess. But by the time he had the aspirin solution ready, Newt was sure he could repeat the sounds back reasonably well. 

But he wasn’t going to risk the chair rolling out from under him again, so he dragged out his step-ladder and pulled that up to the tank. It only took a couple seconds to get the aspirin solution administered, and Newt felt something ease inside, knowing he was helping the pain even a little. 

“Okay, buddy? This’ll make you feel better.” 

And look at that, another response in the same basic pattern. Newt couldn’t hide his grin as he repeated it back. And okay, it wasn’t the best mimic he’d ever done, but he thought he had the gist of-- Shit. Oh, shit, that was not a positive response. The specimen was struggling against his chains, and to get _away_ this time. He didn’t stop until Newt had scrambled back so far that he’d bumped into his own desk. 

Okay. Okay. No more mimicking for a while. Maybe forever. Well, no, not forever because that had been a really intense reaction and Newt burned to know _why_. But he wanted to make sure his specimen--and sometime soon he needed to come up with a name for him--wouldn’t get hurt if he did it again first. 

Newt’s own heart was going too fast, and Newt suddenly didn’t feel like talking anymore. So he stayed quiet while he looked everything up for stage two--getting that leg fixed up to the best of his ability. It took a while, and maybe he could have gotten it done quicker, but Newt was double-checking everything. Twice. Only because he wouldn’t get a do-over if he screwed this up, of course. 

When he was done, he thought his specimen looked more relaxed and hoped it was because of the aspirin taking effect--it should be working by now. Which was a really good thing for the poor guy, because Newt knew this was going to hurt like a bitch. And he was going to have to get the specimen out of the tank to do it too. 

At least he was restrained, and Newt felt relieved and guilty at the same time about that. But he weighed way more than Newt did, and he was sure the specimen could kick his ass, even with the leg. The chains were attached to the metal grate over the top of the tank, and Newt could see how the whole setup could be lifted off, or portions detached and lifted separately. Useful, anyway. He had a winch for his heavier Kaiju specimens, and he was sure that could handle the weight, no problem, but it wouldn’t be comfortable for the specimen. Those chains were already chafing something awful. 

Huh, didn’t he have some heavy duty tarp kicking around? Maybe he could slide that under his belly and secure it to the grate. It might help ease the friction of the chains a bit. Worth a try!

Newt bopped a bit to a beat he couldn’t actually hear, because he’d kept the music off all day, and it was harder than he’d thought it would be. But a new environment would be stressful enough, and he didn’t want to risk the music being an additional stressor. When things got easier, he figured he could reintroduce his tunes slowly. 

The tarp was right where he remembered, sort of, and Newt rushed back to the ladder, eager to help the poor guy start healing. The sooner, the better, because there was so much he wanted to know, and he didn’t want injury and illness screwing with his data. 

He was all the way up the ladder and working through possible methods to get the tarp around the right area when he saw it. 

“Oh, come _on!_ ” 

The specimen flinched and made that mournful sound that went right through him again. He was shaking suddenly, golden eyes way too wide. Was it the anger in Newt’s voice?

Because he sure was _pissed_ off so bad right now. No wonder the specimen had passed out, probably from pain. Hidden by the metal base of the tank and almost invisible except when looking straight down was a really awful sight. The bastards had hung another heavy-looking grate off the chains around his legs, and the chain connecting the grate to the broken leg was shorter than the rest by at least three centimeters. Most of the weight of that grate was--Oh god, Newt actually felt sick to his stomach, just thinking about it. 

He let his head drop to the grate, not even voicing the ow at the back of his throat at the clang. Goddamn. Now what? He _couldn’t_ just haul him up out of there with that, but he couldn’t leave him in there like this either. “I don’t know what to do, man.” 

The specimen just made a quiet sound, almost a chirp. It would have been cute if Newt wasn’t seeing flashes of that pull, that weight, _ruining_ the bones in that leg behind his closed eyelids. He wanted to just dive in and yank those chains off, but it wasn’t like he could just go sw--

Why couldn’t he? Why the hell not? He’d done more dangerous things before, and as long as the specimen was restrained, the worst danger would be getting that dirty water up his nose.

He was going to do this! And it was going to work. Newt was laughing as he scrambled back down the ladder, full of relief that made him almost giddy. Euthanizing the poor guy wasn’t going to become necessary to save him from pain and stress; Newt was going to see to it.

It took some doing to get the front portion of the grate detached, thing was heavier than he thought, but no time at all to get all his supplies up where he could reach them, and then there was only one thing left. He was _not_ going to soak his clothes and have to make the weirdest walk of shame across the whole Shatterdome to his room. 

On the other hand, Newt wasn’t going to go in naked either, and being commando when he got redressed seemed like a reasonable compromise. Back on the ladder, he caught the specimen looking at him, and swore he was wearing a confused expression for a moment. Or maybe it was the feeding tube. Newt could totally get that out right now, actually. 

A couple scales came off when he tried to pull off the waterproof tape, even though he was trying to be gentle. Wasn’t his fault that the specimen was jerking his head back. He had to grab the guy’s muzzle to hold him still after that. 

“Hold still; this will be over quick.” Newt was glad he knew how to do this and a second later he had the tube out, along with a sigh of contentment. Much better. 

The specimen seemed to agree, and the way he was working his jaw now that it wasn’t propped open and taped still was almost comical.

“Now. Please don’t freak out too much. I’ve gotta do your leg next and--”

Newt babbled when he was nervous; he was well aware of that fact. And he could admit to being a little nervous now. He was getting into a cramped tank with a creature he knew next to nothing about and about to try to set a broken leg. Under water. Yeah. This could go really badly.

Also the water was cold, and he could feel an uncomfortable sensation in his skin. There was something really irritating in the mix and Newt hoped to god that it wasn’t going to come back to bite him. 

But he had more important things to worry about, like how the specimen had reared back against the chains and was vocalizing like crazy. 

“It’s okay, dude. I’m not going to hurt you. Well, I am, but only the good hurt that’ll help you heal? Shit. Look. Just gonna get this done as quick as I can. Try not to pass out.”

Babbling again. And the only way to shut off his mouth was really to make talking impossible. Newt took a deep breath and went under before he could think better of it. The splint in his hands dug into his palm, and the discomfort helped him focus. 

He got back there easily enough, what with the specimen trying hard to get away from him, but had to pop up for air too fast, right after he’d worked the chain away from the worst of it. This... was not working. But what choice did he have? 

Newt gulped air and dived back down, ignoring how the fur felt against his chest as he brushed against the creature. To business. 

It was awful. There was a bulge in the thigh that Newt figured out quick was _bone_ , and oh fuck, he was going to have to push the separated ends of a femur back together. Oh god why. 

A touch examination confirmed that the lower leg had breaks too, and the keening while he did it made his ears feel like they were bleeding. 

Newt had to stay up longer this time, trying to control his roiling stomach. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is going to hurt and I can’t not--” 

When he got back down, he splinted the lower leg, which was the easier of the tasks ahead. The bones didn’t feel out of alignment to his fingers, and Newt hoped he was doing it right. 

The scream would be in his nightmares for weeks. 

Words didn’t come when he surfaced again, only whimpers. 

Just one more thing--

He had to get close to do it, his face practically ending up pressed against the specimen’s side. He’d stopped struggling, at least, but that wasn’t going to make this any better.

Focus, Newt. Do it fast. Just. Do. It--

And he’d thought the last sound was a scream. The side of the tank collided with the back of his head and a terrible burning sting, but after coughing out the water up top, he finally got himself back down and saw that the bone looked like it was back in place, at least on the surface. Splinting was the easy part, in hindsight, though he had to stop and pull out a goddamned _fishhook_ and some line from a swollen gash on the thigh. What the hell. 

Newt didn’t feel at all happy that he was done, only sick and tired. Maybe that was why he had started detaching the chains holding the legs to the lower grate without checking first. 

The rattle of the chains as they loosened on the top grate alerted him to the fact that the chains were interconnected, and Newt only had a moment of... not even fear, just a vague concern, before a heavy jerk brought the creature free enough to turn--

Webbed and clawed forepaws found his throat and Newt was slammed hard enough into the lower grate to send up bubbles from his mouth. It was all kind of distant, his vision hazy already, and Newt idly noted that this guy definitely had fully opposable digits because he was _squeezing_ down hard on Newt’s throat and chest with a mouth full of some amazing teeth in his face. 

Newt just had to reach out, wondering, and touched the short muzzle below those golden eyes. It got him bitten for his trouble, and seeing red blossom out of his fingers made everything sharper. At least enough that Newt was suddenly very afraid. 

Newt made a desperate pleading noise in his throat, kicking and scrabbling leaden fingers and against fur and scales. Then just as suddenly he was free and the air on the surface had never tasted so good. 

For a moment there was nothing but getting air back into his lungs, but then the reality crashed back down on him. He was in a tank with a specimen that had just nearly drowned him. Shitshitshit--

Newt scrambled, and somehow ended up lying on the top grate, panting and shaking, with water foaming around his calves. Way too close. Alive. Never again. 

Water sloshed, and Newt could only stare dumbly as the specimen heaved itself up and up, forepaws gripping the edge of the tank. But he was pulled up short, with the tick-tick of claws against glass. His hind legs couldn’t get purchase on the glass to get the rest of him out. 

When he sank beneath the surface again, Newt let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He was shaking so bad now that he didn’t think he could get down, much less get the cover back over the tank. 

Before Newt could process any further, there was another fountain of water rushing towards him, as the specimen again tried to escape, but this time using the _grate_. 

He jerked and hissed in surprise more than pain when claws raked shallow scratches down his thigh, but they found purchase on the metal, and the beautiful-scary-hypnotizing creature was dragging himself up onto the grate. 

Onto Newt. Oh god. 

He could see nostrils flaring as those lungs worked, and feel the water splashing around his calves. The weight. The wet and smooth-soft of scales and fur. 

The sear of pain as flailing hind-claws tried to hook onto the grate from underneath and one got the back of his thigh instead. 

But his specimen was crawling forward, and just as Newt was sure that this was _it_ , this was the end, he stopped, jerked, and a high, thin sound escaped. 

Newt just had to crane his neck to look, and saw that the dude couldn’t get his broken leg over the edge of the grate without jostling it. The edge of the splint had caught. 

“Oh. You can’t--” 

For a moment that seemed to stretch and stretch beyond all plausibility they just looked at each other. 

The weight on him was making his already gasping breaths come harder, and for once, Newt couldn’t think of a single thing he could say. He was probably going to die, and he couldn’t think of a single good last words. Wasn’t that funny? 

The laugh came out as more of a sob, and Newt let his head fall back, shaking harder as his throat was exposed. Maybe it would be quick--

Nothing happened. There was only the harsh sound of Newt’s panicked breaths in his ears, and the stab of discomfort with every swallow. Thoughts jumbled and pushed against each other with no end in sight. Tipping his head back improved airflow. The specimen had to be endothermic; he felt so warm. He was going to be pulled back under and really drown this time. If he had more leg-strength, he could lever the dude’s hindquarters up enough for him to get purchase and come out all the way. Those eyes were so bright and he could drown in the gold of them forever. The holes in the throat that took in water for the gills clamped nice and tight in the air.

Without warning and without a sound the specimen let go and was sliding back into the water like a hot knife through butter. Newt suddenly felt _freezing_ , and every single cut was burning like lava. 

All he could do was lie there and stare at the ceiling of his lab for a long, long time. 

Most surreal experience ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specimen!Hermman doesn't identify himself with a short, abstract label (a name), so that's why there's no name usage in his POV yet. He does have a codified descriptive label for himself, but that's more like a paragraph and not something he ties into his sense of self. He's just "me" or "I" in his own head, really. Likewise, why aquatic!Vanessa doesn't have a name. She's his mate, and he has no need of any other identifier in his own mental monologue but that.


	3. Quandary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: There is some accidental mis-gendering/mis-sexing in this, due to reasons of not understanding different-species biology (and also some social-cultural reasons too). It'll probably continue for a while. 
> 
> There is also one reference to potential rape (that didn't/won't happen) and some hypothesizing that involves situations with built in consent issues.

**Day 2, ???**

Nothing made sense. He couldn’t parse anything that had happened; there was nothing to measure against. He felt loss and keenly ached with the lack of his measures. They had been a glorious set that he could figure anything, even take the measure of the whole world, with, and a courting gift from his mate. His paws itched to feel the carefully selected shells on their woven cords slip through them as he counted and made sense of the world. And now lost, left behind for safe-keeping when they’d still thought they would return to home waters once the child was strong enough. 

But he knew that even his measures wouldn’t help him with this. The events he had just witnessed couldn’t be put together in a way that he could discover meaning in. So he curled himself as tight as he could around his leg, now wrapped up with stiff pieces to hold the bones in place. And that was the thing that baffled him, if not the most, then near that much.

The other monsters had pulled and twisted on his leg in clever and insidious ways, making it grind and send jolts of pain through him. Especially after he’d first broken it, putting a crack in the first clear shell, while they used hooked rods to yank the tangle-trap out of him along with chunks of his flesh. But this one had done something different. He wasn’t a fool; he knew healing when he saw it. And if this monster used something that wasn’t the ancestral healing bones to support his broken ones, it was so much the same that it didn’t matter.

It was working. The pain had gone soft and almost bearable, except when he bumped his leg against things. 

But he couldn’t figure out _why_. Everything this two-legged one did was the exact opposite of what he’d heard in the songs, and come to expect since they’d pulled him from the sea. The others had had that vile intelligence that allowed them to build floating caves and leave swaths of bloody water behind them, or concoct poisons to spill out from those caves, almost as bad as the ones from the terrors of the darkest deep. But this one hadn’t once shown an interest in causing him more pain than he’d already been suffering.

First, the songs. Oh, the songs. When it sang at him, he could so easily get lost in them. So easy to pretend it was a song from a person who’d grown up so far away that the meaning was being lost instead of the barbaric chatter of a monster. It felt like a trick, a lie, to lure him in to slaughter. Or maybe like mocking, and he felt so angry and disgusted. Wanting it to continue in spite of himself, and hating the creature for seeming _almost_ like a person. So he’d snapped at it and tossed out insults. And yet, when he’d told it to stop singing enough times, it had repeated the words right back at him. Like a child learning to sing. 

Anger had turned to panic in a moment, and to his surprise, it had stopped for a while, retreating to a distance but not out of sight, again, like a scolded child.

But it wasn’t a child, he thought. It wasn’t that much smaller than the others, and at the same time, it was different. That was a puzzle too, but at least an easier one to think about. He worried a loose tooth with his tongue, going over the measures and his memories. Was this one a female? Females usually were smaller, more graceful and agile. Or maybe a young male, not yet fully grown. But a young male wouldn’t so brazenly challenge an older one. A female, though, he could see doing that and winning. And in his mind’s eye, he could compare sizes, the thickness of body and limbs, and yes, it matched up. This monster, his monster, was smaller and not as thickly built as many of them. Not all, but those would be the other females, of course. It made perfect sense. 

He flicked his tail in an attempted to move the water, and felt himself relax. Figuring something out made him feel more sure, like swimming with the currents at his tail. It made him feel like he could tackle the other puzzles. 

It made her more like a person in his mind. 

By the great currents, was he so desperate? 

It hurt to think about, but yes, he was. He’d not been apart from his mate since she’d started courting him in earnest. Being with her had put those seasons before, as a solitary hunter, in stark comparison, and they didn’t measure up well. Perhaps if he’d never known such glorious and sublime companionship he wouldn’t feel so achingly alone right now, grasping for personhood in a monster that would surely show her true colors soon enough. 

But it still made _no_ sense. Why take the effort to heal him? Why release him from the hard ropes while so helpless against him? She had to have known that even if he recognized the kindness, that the pain--

Hadn’t she? Was she that stupid? Or just that stupidly trusting? 

The memory of her in the water, neck beneath his foreclaws, came swimming back up to the backs of his eyelids. He’d been hurting, hurt, and didn’t care that she had been healing him. He had been angry and thirsting for vengeance. Vengeance for his mate, the pain, being trapped in a too small shell. She hadn’t struggled at all, just reached up to touch his face. It was only when he’d turned the touch aside with his teeth and was readying to gut her with his hindclaws that she’d struggled and made that tiny, sad noise that suddenly reminded him so very strongly of his own desperate calls for help. 

And he just couldn’t. He wasn’t a monster like them. It was wrong to repay her kindness with violence like that. He’d had to let her go then. 

It had been looking at her sprawled out on the not-stone covering the opening to the shell that he’d realized, _he could get out_ and then nothing could stop him from getting back into the sea. All he had to do was get himself over the edge of the shell; the opening she’d left to get in was big enough, barely. 

If he had been well, he knows he could have done it. The shell was smooth, and his claws couldn’t catch. Beating his tail couldn’t compensate for that, but the not-stone had plenty of large gaps to grab onto. It had almost been easy (would have been, if he hadn’t been so weakened by hunger and pain), and his claws had caught, but he didn’t have the strength to fight the pain, or to lift his broken hind over the edge without dragging it against the not-stone.

It hadn’t been until his leg had forced him to stop and she sang something at him that he’d really realized what he’d done. He could remember the warmth of her even now, the way her belly had pressed up against his with each quick, too quick, breath she’d taken. 

The way she’d arched her throat for him, too short and soft and already marked and bleeding from his claws. If she had been one of the people, he would have called the way she’d done it almost shy, but it had to have been deliberate. And to deliberately choose to make that gesture, so intimate and trusting, that _offer_ \--

He couldn’t imagine _why_ , then or now. But he’d wanted to take it, just for a moment, some dark angry part of himself surging upwards. Wanted to take it in the opposite spirit such an offer should be taken, to claim, to _own_ , and hurt. 

It hadn’t lasted even a heartbeat of time, but the disgust that roiled up in him now, with guilt and shame that he’d ever had such a want, made him shudder and let out a despairing sound. His mate would be so ashamed of him if she knew. That she would never know wasn’t a comfort at all. 

That he had resisted the urge and removed himself from contact with her before he gave into the urge for vengeance again was only a very small one. It still plagued his thoughts, much like the offer itself. 

As intelligent as the monsters were, none of the people had ever been able to understand what was in their thoughts. Or maybe they’d never tried, and his thoughts circled around again to the fact that except for this female, none of the monsters he’d seen had been anything but what was in the stories and songs. So intelligent, but warped, wicked, and cruel. Completely alien. 

And this one, with her offer... What could she be thinking? It was a very serious offer to even think of making, unless it was to one of the harem keepers--but they perverted the natural way of things--and even then it was bartering devotion and body to receive protection and food in return. Unless she thought he was one of those harem keepers, and the thought made him bare his teeth. 

But it was possible. He’d nearly drowned her moments before, and then had ended up pinning her to the not-stone, even if it hadn’t been his intention. She might have feared for her life and made the offer in hopes of bargaining for it. Who knew how common harem keepers were among these monsters? 

There were holes in the theory, though. He made an incredibly poor candidate for a harem keeper. He didn’t have the power to protect her or the wealth to support her, the way such bargains were kept. Outside of the shell, he had no power over her at all, not even physically. All she had to do was kick his broken leg and he knew he would have been too overcome by the pain to keep his hold. But she hadn’t, and he refused to believe she wasn’t smart enough to have seen the option. 

She had probably been afraid, he could admit that he would have been, but to be so frozen by fear that something like that seemed the only option? He couldn’t believe that either. 

Maybe he was diving in from the wrong direction. Maybe she had...well, he’d heard stories of females cut off from suitable mates for so long that they became desperate enough to roll and tangle with the first male they came across when at the apex of their fertility. 

...And he found that very believable, indeed. He barked derision at himself. It would be less completely ludicrous if she was one of the people, but only just. 

There were sounds above him as she finally stirred on the not-stone cover. Her movements nearly toppled her back into the water and she let out a sharp sound but she recovered and clambered on the object she’d been using to climb up the outside of the shell. 

The movements brought her smell-taste swirling through the water again, liberally touched with her blood. Pleasant, in its way, if as strange and alien as her body was. Did she somehow find him the same only so much more intensely?

No. Absolutely not. He should stop trying to think of answers; obviously he was delirious from pain.

The first idea was the least implausible so far, but it still didn’t measure up. What was he missing--

What was she _doing?_

She was standing very near the shell, in a depression on the ground leading to a grouping of very small holes and had something that looked like a long, headless eel in her soft, clawless forepaws. Then she reached over and did something to a protrusion of not-stone and...water? 

He suddenly didn’t care as much about the other questions; he wanted to know how she’d done that. She was using the water now pouring from the fake-eel to wash herself, scrubbing her forepaws over her skin under the stream. Oh, he wished he could do that and get rid of the filth clinging to his fur and scales, but it wouldn’t matter because the water in the shell would just make him filthy again. 

By the time she was finished washing, he saw what he was sure was shivering, like a child that hadn’t gotten the full growth of fur to protect against the cold. That solved the mystery of the false-skins. These monsters had no fur, and didn’t have the thick, rich fat under their bare skins like whales. It was a wonder they didn’t all freeze to death on the sea, but then again, most of them seemed to prefer the land.

While he was considering that she’d almost disappeared, except for the curve of her back, thin, soft skin marked by swirling colors in some kind of mystifying decoration. He felt a little embarrassed on her behalf suddenly, because with the false skins, something like that would probably only be seen by a mate, and here she was--

He wasn’t going to think about it. 

The water level in the tank was going down, and suddenly he could feel the pull towards a small, dark hole as it did. He’d thought the hole dead-ended somewhere, because the water had never escaped the shell before, but now it was. What was she doing?!

He seethed in sudden anger. “Stop that! I have no wish to be dry! The filth is better than no water at all!” 

That wasn’t entirely true, but if there was no water then he couldn’t get out by any means. And maybe what happened today had given him hope, if he could just endure long enough for his leg to heal... 

She didn’t entirely ignore him, but only sang something short back in her gibberish as she pulled the false-skins back on. Wet now and clinging to her real skin, he could still see shadows of the colors on her through the one over her body. 

The water had almost completely left now, and he crouched awkwardly on three legs as he closed off his gill-inlets and opened up his lungs. Without the water, the shell was unbelievably cramped, with no way for him to uncurl even a little. 

She’d climbed back up to the edge of the shell now, with the false-eel in paw, and suddenly his irritation was replaced by a flush of gratitude. Where all the water was coming from, he didn’t know, but it looked like she wasn’t going to leave him dry, and even if the filth still clinging to the shell and him would dirty the water again much too soon, it would be better. 

Then she ran the stream of water over the sides of the shell and he was sure most of the filth would be washed away. Oh. _Oh,_ yes. This was good. Frustratingly confusing, but good.

Then water splashed over him unexpectedly, making his chafed scales sting horribly, and he snapped up at her. “Don’t do that without asking, cretin!” 

She sang something back, and left the false-eel pouring water into the shell. The water stopped getting sucked out a moment later, and she was walking across the floor of the cave, to other strange objects that he had no names for. 

He felt embarrassed for himself this time, realizing that he’d lost the chance to rinse the poison and filth off himself without dirtying the water he’d have to swim in. Still, he wanted it off, even if it went into the water and would get on him again. So with much gritting of his teeth against the pain he managed to hobble under the stream, and now that he was expecting the sting, it felt so _good_. 

Clean, clean, clean!

It was water from a river instead of the sea, he could tell by the taste, but it didn’t matter to him in the least. With much pain and effort, all so very worthwhile, he managed to scrub down his scales and fur. The broken leg was the worst part. And when the water got deeper, he carefully laid himself down and rolled a little to make sure he’d rinsed off the parts that were hardest to reach too. 

Her singing something, far too close, startled him. She’d perched herself on the thing she’d first used to reach the edge of the shell, and that had dumped her on the cave floor when it had moved, and had her jaw resting on her forepaws. 

He straightened and righted himself immediately, even if the pain of doing that quickly had made him pause and whine, to retain a little dignity but it only made her sing at him some more. 

“You sing too much.” 

But she was up and moving, and wouldn’t understand anyway. The water sucked away again, but he was far less worried as she climbed back up. This time she sang to him softly as she moved the false-eel, and he didn’t protest when the water washed over him again. He was not going to question this, or her motives, or anything else right now. 

It felt too good and he didn’t want it to end. It felt like it would if he questioned. 

She climbed back down all too soon, and the water began to rise again. It felt like forever until the water buoyed him up and he was swimming again. He was clumsy with his broken leg, but ah, the clean water felt so good and his gills felt relief in a way that said he’d grown too used to discomfort to even notice that they’d been irritated. 

For the moment he didn’t care that she was watching him, pressed up against the shell and singing softly, but it didn’t last. Some sound from the entrance to her cave caught her attention and she called out loudly. 

Another of the monsters was there, carrying several things in its forepaws. Whatever it was, his monster was very loud about it, and he thought she might have been excited.

This new one was a little larger, and wearing the tighter, darker colored false-skins like the very large male he’d only gotten a glimpse of had worn, so he guessed it might be a male. 

The new male was singing back at her, and now holding one of the objects high above his head while she tried in vain to snatch it away. He swore he could hear a pout in her song, but that note faded out when the male gave her one of the things it was holding in his other paw. 

He was curious in spite of himself, watching them. They were singing in quick, short bursts back and forth with each other, and only stopped for a moment while she came over to the tank to grab the object she’d been perched on and pull it back over to the wide, flat-topped thing that he’d claimed to rest on. 

Then she stretched her forelimbs out towards the male, and he gave something over. When she dug out what was inside and put it in her mouth--

Oh. The male had brought her food and they were eating together. The first object had apparently been food too, some kind of dark liquid that she managed to dribble down the side of her jaw. 

Watching them was starting to make his heart ache with a hollow echo. Questions were buzzing furiously in his head, but he pushed them back, hurting but unable to look away. 

Then the male put his food...shell? down and suddenly had his forepaws on her throat, lightly touching the bloody marks. She sang something and the male was suddenly looking right at him in a way that was no coincidence. 

She twisted to look too, for a moment, but then was singing quick and sharp, finally succeeding in pulling the male’s attention away. 

He drew water in through his gills, suddenly realizing he’d been so still that he’d stopped even that for a moment. He was sure now what he was seeing. The male was, if not already her mate, at least courting her, and now he knew what had happened. Revenge would come and the agony would return. He was trembling, he suddenly realized, but he still couldn’t make himself look away. 

They were singing back and forth in earnest now, low and too soft to hear more than a distant murmur. The male kept glancing up at him, or at least the shell he was in. But then they leaned apart and the male picked up the food-shell again. In moments they were back to the brisk back and forth as they ate. 

Shortly after, his monster turned her shell upside down and scraped around, apparently determined to get every last bit of food out. Then she reached for the object that she’d been so intent on at first, and the male batted her paw away. 

Even from here, distorted by the water, he could see the gentle playfulness in the tap. It hurt to watch with a fierceness that rivaled his leg. He still couldn’t let go and turn himself so he couldn’t see. 

But it seemed like the male had finished his own food and was finally giving into her demands. He had never seen anything like it before, about paw-sized and with something white flaking off almost constantly. Whatever it was, his monster wanted it badly, singing quick and loud. The male just pushed her moving perch back with his leg, and then took a clearly luxurious and exaggerated bite of the mystery object himself, to a loud cry of objection. The white flaked down his jaw, landing on his throat and the dark false-skin. 

So it was food, and something she desperately wanted, because she was on her feet in an instant and pressing her mouth to the male’s, as if she was trying to eat it right off his tongue. His forepaw came around her back and for a moment, neither of them moved, though they were certainly singing at each other. 

Then she pulled back and lapped at the male’s jaw, chasing the flecks of white with her tongue. The male sang, or maybe it was just a wordless sound of approval, at her attentions, and then he-- 

Oh. _Oh._

\--he tipped his head back to expose the whole line of his throat to her in a soft arch. She leaned in, a gentle touch with her mouth that turned into what looked like a long rub of her jaw against him. His paw slid up her back to curl gently at the nape of her neck. 

Then something happened that made the male protest, but he didn’t know what. His eyes had squinted closed against the new pain in his chest and he was fighting back the sounds that wanted to emerge. 

They were definitely mated. Oh. _Oh_ , how it hurt. His mate, dead and gone forever. He’d never see her again, never tease and play again. Never see their child learn to swim. Never hear her. Never--

Never...

Grief poured out of him in a long, low wail, and he covered his head in his forepaws, not caring that it twisted his throat so that it was harder to draw water into his gills. 

_He wanted his mate--_

His monster’s rapid song, suddenly right outside the shell. 

She was there, her mate close behind her, with white and something yellow smeared on her mouth and jaw (her mate’s too), and for some reason she was singing at him instead of-- 

It made no sense. It made no _sense_. The wail came again, but anger rushed in on its wake. These monsters had taken his mate from him. They had the _gall_ to behave like-like-- in front of him after that. She’d even mocked him by offering her throat when she already had a mate! 

He screamed his song at them. “Down to the darkest deep with you! I hope your first child dies within you!” 

Then, not caring about how it made his leg scream in pain, he executed a quick flip, and let his tail scoop water up to splash them both. 

They both sputtered and she sang something sharp at him. 

“Stop your stupid singing!” 

He could only flick his tail this time and the splash was much smaller. He didn’t want to see, to hear, to--

He curled tight around himself, shoulders pressed against the opposite wall of the shell, and the wail overtook him again.

When he lifted his head to look, some indeterminate time later, they were both gone and the entrance to her cave completely blocked off by whatever she’d put only partially across it earlier.


	4. Friendship and Clams

**Day 2, Newt**

Goddamn, his specimen was gorgeous. The way he moved through the water, even in the cramped tank, was like poetry in motion. He needed to see an x-ray, get a look at the articulation of that spine, because, wow, it was almost snakelike in the range of movement. Overall, though, Newt thought his specimen resembled an otter most, though, like, two to three times bigger than the largest otter he’d ever heard of. 

He leaned against the tank until his glasses--spotty now, from getting wet-- nearly touched the glass, just drinking in the sight and quietly talking his way through what he was visually cataloguing. 

Large, rounded skull, and probably with a large brain cavity, and those big lovely eyes set forward for binocular vision. There were nictitating membranes, he noticed, and it looked like they were nearly transparent. Short muzzle with plenty of vibrissae, but also two long, elegant barbels extending from below the closed nostrils. Those reminded Newt of a catfish. 

The teeth definitely didn’t though; holy crap, they were amazing. Varied dentition, a lot like mammals, but the types of teeth were different. In the front were sharp, needle-like teeth, and behind them serrated ones that looked good for shearing, and could maybe pass as carnassials in a pinch. He’d have to see if he could get the specimen to pull back the lips with teeth closed together, but Newt had a feeling that all of those teeth would fit together like scissors. And behind those... were those molars? Something like that, built to crush. Huh, maybe they were related to otters instead of just sharing some surface similarities. 

Of course otters didn’t have bioluminescence. It was gathered only in certain areas, each a protrusion from the body, like a soft rounded bump poking out of the fur. The ones on the head were larger and looked almost like horns--antlers, might be more accurate--clearish and hardly glowing in the light. Faintly pinkish in the very center, but he was pretty sure the glow was on the green-teal side of the light spectrum when the light was low enough to really see it. Newt wanted a closer look, but he was already pretty sure that the pinkish center indicated bloodflow, like the quick of a claw, and the outer clear keratin growth something protective. Actually, maybe it was used for amplification? Like, maybe the keratin shell focused the glow like a lens. Oh man, he needed to do some testing on that.

Moving down from the head and the almost-antlers, there was what Newt could only call a graceful neck. Two pair of--now what were those called? Sharks had them, and he knew he should remember--spiracles, that was it!, paired across the central line of the throat, about halfway down. Newt could see how muscles in the lower throat moved to force water in through them and back out the gills, which were mostly on the front and underside of the chest. The gills and spiracles flicked open and closed in concert, to ensure no backflow. There were five slits on each side, and they started front, but curled back and up to end up along the ribs behind the forelimbs. Newt thought he could see holes behind the slits instead of long openings into the body cavity, so this species probably couldn’t just swim along with the spiracles open to let water flow through unobstructed; water needed to be pushed through. How did all this work with the lungs though? 

Newt needed to know, so bad, but there were other things he was picking up just by watching. Those forelimbs had a nice range of motion, and it looked like they could extend partially out to the side, instead of just forward and backward rotation, a lot like a whale’s flippers. He’d watched them used to scrub at that place on the back of the neck, right at the nape, that he knew was hard to reach in a lot of species. They were long and powerful looking, with spiny fins along the lower portion, with big, webbed paws. Looking now, Newt was sure that the first and fifth digits were at least partially opposable, and those had the least webbing to obstruct grabbing. Each digit ended in a short claw that was nearly straight. Those suckers were sharp too, and Newt could feel the punctures and scratches on his neck, shoulders, and thigh burning really badly. He hoped he wouldn’t get an infection.

Beautiful was all he could say. Everything about this species was grace, at least in water. The hind legs looked short, and he’d seen how the poor guy hunched his spine in a bow--kind of like ferrets, actually--but maybe that’d be partly because the tank was really way, way too cramped. They were well-muscled though, and the digits on the paw shorter and with less pronounced webbing. The claws back there, on the other hand, were much bigger. The inside curve was a little greater, but they were heftier too, and he needed a much closer look because was that serration? 

Suddenly Newt had a flash of insight, and shuddered at the image. They probably used their forelimbs to grasp and hold down prey and the hind claws to slice it open. It made how he’d been held down under water much scarier. 

But no dwelling on that just yet! There was that tail to consider. It was really thick, especially at the base, and he could almost see how the musculature underneath looked in his head. The distance between the hind-legs and the flukes was definitely less than between shoulder and hip, but maybe calling the legs hind-legs wasn’t really accurate, because Newt could see obvious bone structure inside the fluke, more like a seal’s hind flippers than anything. There was a membrane stretched between what he was sure was the inner phalange and the tail, creating more surface area. It looked mobile, though, almost like the specimen could flap a little, or fold one near the tail. Newt needed to get this guy into a pool-sized body of water, just to see if that improved maneuverability as much as he thought it might. And extending beyond that, maybe twenty-thirty cm, was the slightly flattened tail tip. 

An honest to god higher order hexapod, though! How amazing was that, and that Newt got to sit here and watch this creature swim and cavort, that looked like cavorting to him, in the water? He looked so much happier--

“Delivery!” 

What? Newt wasn’t expecting-- Oh. “Tendo! What did you bring me?” 

He was rushing over before he even finished saying that, excited and really looking forward to the treat. It was probably food, but he pretended he didn’t already know that. It was more fun to be surprised. 

Tendo grinned in a way that said he was humoring Newt and loving every moment of it. This would end in teasing, Newt was sure, and he’d love-hate every moment. “I heard about that report you have do. So, brain food, my friend. And food that’s actually good for your brain. Mostly.” 

He lifted his left hand, jiggling the bag of some kind of takeout that smelled _amazing_ from here already. There was also coffee, which Newt was more than glad for. Tendo always knew how to feed his caffeine addiction. “I was gonna say, about the coffee-- Tendo, man, you have donuts. Gimme!”

And he did, in a box with the little hand-drawn logo of the best donut place within a walk of the Shatterdome. Most of the businesses that close to shore had cleared out, if they could afford it, but the few that stayed made a killing off of PPDC staff. Newt’s mouth was already watering, and he made a grab for them. He missed, and Tendo decided to be a jerk and lift the box over his head. Newt whined and tried to jump up and grab the box, but he couldn’t get purchase. Why did Tendo have to be taller? And dress up really nicely in that PPDC uniform, oh yeah. They were close, and Newt thought about stealing a smooch in revenge for the donuts, but probably better to save kissing for when they could go somewhere with it. 

Tendo’s pupils widened--definite sign of similar thoughts right there--but his grin stayed, and the coffee cup was pressed forward instead of the donuts. “They’re _dessert_. You’ll get your sugar junkie hands on them soon enough, but real food first.” 

Newt would have pouted, but the food smelled awesome, and his stomach clenched in that uncomfortable way that meant he’d forgotten to eat for a little too long. So he trailed along as Tendo sauntered over to his desk. He was doing it on purpose, the dick. Then he remembered that he’d tugged his chair over to the tank. “Just a sec! Need to rescue my chair.” 

“Sure.” There were sounds behind him as Newt turned and then Tendo called out. “Do I want to know why you’re soaking wet under your clothes?” 

“Probably not! But it shows off my figure, am I right?” That was a sporfle of barely contained laughter, and Newt looked over his shoulder and winked while swaying his hips. Two could play the flirting game. 

It only took a couple of minutes to get himself settled, and then Newt reached out. “What wonders lie hidden in that take-out box?” 

Tendo handed him the box instead of answering and, hell yeah, curry! “Is this from that place...?”

“The very one.” 

“She’s so badass and her curry is the best. Thanks, man. You know me way too well!” Score! He was gonna have some homemade curry and donuts and today was a really great day, disaster with nearly drowning aside. 

For a minute or two, all was curried bliss, with a little bit of coffee to give it some kick. Then Tendo suddenly put his container down, and oops, that was a concerned look. Newt tipped his head to the side, knowing better than to try to hide the cuts. 

“Newt. I wasn’t going to ask about the clothes but, you’re bleeding.” That was totally worry in the tone and Newt felt guilty. On the other hand, Tendo’s fingers felt good against the cuts, even if it didn’t do a thing for the burning. 

“I had a little accident with the specimen. No big!” 

Tendo wasn’t buying it, and was throwing a hard look towards the tank. “Someday your obsession with learning everything Kaiju is going to get you really hurt.” 

“Not a Kaiju!” Geez, Newt felt like a broken record and couldn’t help glancing back too. The specimen was pressed up against the edge of the tank, clearly watching them. Huh. “That poor guy is Earth-native, I’m pretty sure. I’d need to run some DNA to be positive, but... yeah. And they broke his leg and hung a _metal grate_ off of it. I couldn’t leave it like that!” 

Tendo scrubbed at his face, but was still leaning in with concern. “You got into the tank with it, didn’t you?” 

“No way around it, but it’s okay. I only got a couple scratches.” More than that, but Newt didn’t want to worry Tendo any more than he already had. 

Tendo’s fingers pressed in hard against the punctures and Newt winced in spite of himself. “Those aren’t just scratches. Your neck is already starting to bruise. What aren’t you telling me?” 

“So maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention to the way they’d chained him up and when I took the grate off he kind of got free before I could get out. I think... I think they might tackle prey by holding them down against the ocean floor and using the hindclaws to finish it. But he let me go!” Newt was not liking the way Tendo kept glancing up, and really didn’t want him to go tell Marshall Pentecost. Newt didn’t want his specimen taken away. It’d _needed_ to be done.

“So why is the tank still _open_?” And now Tendo sounded a little angry. 

“To calm him down.” And Newt was maybe bullshitting a little, but he had been so much calmer since he’d gotten that leg taken care of, and he wouldn’t be surprised that leaving the tank open was a part of it, so! “And he can’t get out. The only possible way would be by climbing onto the top grate, and he’d need two intact hind legs to pull himself up all the way. I was gonna leave it open until he got less stressed.” 

Tendo pressed their foreheads together hard enough to make Newt wince. And ow, that tone of voice made something inside go all panicky and pained. Newt hated upsetting his only real friend here. Or anywhere. “Which you probably found out because he tried it. Newt, you-- Sometimes you’re so stupid.” 

“I’m sorry. I just... Animal cruelty. He was _suffering_.” 

“And you know I respect that about you, just... Be more careful?” Tendo’s smile, so close it made him cross-eyed to look at it, softened up the ball of panic.

“Sure. Definitely. I won’t be getting back into that tank any time soon.” Newt gulped. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Tendo sat back and grabbed for his container again. “I know. But if it’s not a Kaiju, why do you have it?” 

Newt felt himself relax in response and popped another spoonful of curry into his mouth. “You’ve never seen anything like him. Neither have I. He’s a completely unknown species, and I’m pretty sure the Kaiju are what forced him away from his home range into human contact. Meaning, if we can find where he’s from...” 

“We’re another step toward finding where the Kaiju are coming from.” 

“Exactly!” 

Tendo grinned down at him. “I take it back. You’re brilliant. Reckless as hell, but brilliant.” 

“You know it!” Newt tipped the container up so he could scrape the last of the sauce into his mouth. Mm, curry. He was almost tempted to lick the container clean, but there were donuts calling his name. He reached--

And got his hand smacked. Tendo tsked at him. “If I let you at them before I’m done, I won’t get any. Patience.”

“What’s that? Is it tasty?” Bad jokes were awesome and nobody could tell him otherwise. 

Tendo rolled his eyes, and Newt sat on his hands, jiggling his knee--but not the one where there was that spot of sharp, burning pain just above the back of the knee though. ow--and trying to be patient while his friend finished. 

He was rewarded a minute later by the sight of a delicious, mouthwatering filled donut dusted perfectly with powdered sugar. Oh yes. “Come to daddy, you little piece of heaven, you!” 

Tendo just _smirked_ , and suddenly Newt was pushed back while the other man tipped his head back and took a big bite. He even moaned for effect. Jerk! 

Well, revenge would be his. Newt was going to steal that treat right back, and if it turned into a makeout session, well, he wasn’t going to complain. Newt knew the moment he pressed his mouth to Tendo’s that making out was a given. Not only was Tendo laughing and letting him “rescue” a bit of the donut, but hot _damn_ , the flavor. Curry spice and sugar, mingling with the bite of lemon filling--the good kind made from real lemon and not artificial flavored gloop. And all of that layered over Tendo’s own flavor, with a shot of coffee. 

The flavors probably shouldn’t have been so good together but they were setting off fireworks in Newt’s brain as he pulled back just enough to tongue the sugar off Tendo’s lower lip. “So. I really want to blow you. Right now.” 

Tendo’s hand pressed right over the tattoo of Trespasser on his lower back and Newt felt more than heard the grown. “I wish, but I’ve got a hot date in a couple hours.”

“Hoping to get lucky?” Newt warbled out a sigh at the hint of teeth, feeling flushed and amazing. Tendo’s thighs flexed under his hands.

“That’s the plan.” Tendo hummed the answer, sucking on Newt’s lower lip. Quick, excited breaths feathered over his cheek and Newt felt his own breathing rate pick up even more in response. 

So he kissed Tendo deep again, chasing the flavor. His fingers wandered, seeking out-- There. The faint flutter of Tendo’s pulse when he pressed his fingertips in. It was quick from the stimulation, but strong and steady. And that fact was so, so hot that Newt moaned a little. “Don’t leave me hanging, dude! Details! Who’s the lucky lady?”

Tendo laughed against his mouth. They were exchanging kisses nearly between every word and it only made everything more intense. “Her name’s Jessica, and she’s walking perfection. Rubenesque, with curves to die for. And her voice, man, it’s like auditory sex. Goes right to your cock.” 

Goddamn. Newt could see it, and his breath hitched as his brain threw out a picture of Tendo’s hands dimpling soft skin while he gripped tight onto generous hips and lavished attention on a glorious pair of tits with his mouth. Shit. That was hot. But, there was something missing. “Tell me about her brain, man. It’d better be sexy.”

“Oh, you.” Tendo sounded like he couldn’t decide between moaning and laughing as he tipped his head back so Newt could continue licking up the sugar on his neck. “Hell yeah, her brain is sexy. She’s a musician. Cutting edge experimental sounds. She’s also written a couple neo-jazzy numbers. Not at _all_ kidding about her voice.” 

Oh yes. Oh, yes, yes, _yes_. Now _that_ was sex appeal incarnate. Newt groaned, and rubbed his cheek against Tendo’s neck, blood singing with want. He sucked up a patch of skin, wild with the flavor against his tongue, and maybe a little turned on at the idea of leaving a hickey behind. Okay, way more than a little. 

Tendo hissed something about going to his date with a fresh hickey, but contradicted himself even as he spoke by tipping his neck further and pressing Newt closer with a hand cupped against the nape of his neck. Newt shivered, loving the way Tendo’s knees pressed warm and firm against his hips to draw the rest of him closer. He pinched a bit of skin gently between his teeth, nearly vibrating with arousal, and moaned in response to the twitch of fingers against his neck and the way Tendo’s breath kept hitching. Turning Tendo on was the hottest thing in the universe. 

But another twitch sent a sting of not-good pain through him, reminding Newt that they were in his lab. Oh, and Tendo did have that date. It wouldn’t be fair if he gave Tendo a workout and left him at less than one hundred ten percent for his girlfriend. She did deserve the best on a date-night. Newt wasn’t at all sorry about the hickey though. If she wasn’t cool with Tendo hooking up with other people, she wasn’t the dream-girl Tendo was looking for. But Newt really hoped she was poly too, because initial reports indicated that she was a real close match for dream-girl material otherwise. 

“If she’s cool with it, I so want to meet her.” Oops. Had he said that out loud? Someday he needed to invent an artificial brain-mouth filter. His was faulty. 

“Absolutely.” Tendo’s voice had gone incredibly husky. 

Oh man, oh man. They needed to put the breaks on or a blow job just might happen right in the lab. Newt just needed the fortitude to pull away from that teasing taste of sugar on Tendo’s skin. Wait! That was it!

Newt grabbed Tendo’s wrist and took a giant bite out of the donut before Tendo could fully process that he’d pulled back from the necking. Lemon filling glooped down his chin, oozing threateningly in the vague direction of his collar. 

“Hey! That’s mine!” 

“Not anymore. You’ll never rescue your precious donut from my clutches. Mwahaha!” So maybe villainous laughter was not very effective with his mouth so full, and then he was actually laughing too hard to keep it up.

“Unhand my donut, dastardly--” To his credit, Tendo tried to play along, but he couldn’t keep a straight face either, and they were kissing again besides. 

But it was a messy, giggly kiss that felt more like play-fighting than ‘omg sex now plz’ so it was okay. In fact, Newt thought this needed the addition of some tickling to-- 

The sound cut through them like the Kaiju-alarm and left them staring at each other, laughter DOA. Newt suddenly felt a horrible chill. That one was way worse than the mournful sounds his specimen had been making earlier. Shit. What was wrong? 

Newt was vaguely aware of Tendo following as he rushed over to the tank, worried that maybe the specimen had hurt himself somehow. But he didn’t see any obvious sign of injury, just the specimen near the bottom of the tank and curled up with his head down near his chest. That pose could not be good for water flow through the gills, and the specimen had paws pressed over his eyes and muzzle too. He was weaving faintly side to side, and Newt couldn’t _see_ anything the matter. 

“Dude. Dude, hey. What is it?”

For a moment, his specimen didn’t move, and there was a niggle in the back of his brain. There was...something that Newt was missing here, but it slipped away when he tried to focus on it. The specimen repeated the eerie sound again, but then lifted his head, teeth bared. Before Newt could do anything else, he flipped--ow, must be hurting that leg with that move--and then Newt was thoroughly soaked for the second time in an hour. And so was Tendo, whoops. 

His protest was automatic. “Hey! What was that for?”

The specimen fired off that now familiar string of sounds at him and punctuating it by splashing him. _Again_. Then he swam to the furthest end of the tank and curled in a tight ball, back to them. 

“I don’t think it likes you.” Tendo’s voice was as dry as the rest of him was soaking wet. His hair was starting to come loose too, which was hot. Not that Tendo would agree. 

“Can’t blame him, dude.” Newt lifted his arms a bit, watching the water dripping steadily off the sleeve ends. Damn. “Now I’ve got to walk halfway across the Shatterdome looking like a drowned rat.” 

“You’re not the one who has to walk past the Kwoon and the pilot hopefuls--” Tendo was grimacing, and Newt couldn’t blame him. 

Newt licked his lips while he thought the situation over, tasting watery lemon. Then he scrubbed his mouth clean on his sleeve. The shirt was going to get tossed in the hamper anyway, and donut on his chin would not improve the embarrassing situation one bit. Tendo rolled his eyes at the action and Newt grinned right back at him, falling in step. The solution was obvious, of course. “Don’t worry about that! I’ve got some of your clothes in my room.” 

Tendo snatched up a napkin to clean his face like a normal person and gave him a _look_. “Newt, I’ve been _in_ your war-zone of a room.” 

“Just because it’s creatively organized--” Newt gave up at Tendo’s snort. So maybe it was complete chaos, but he dusted and swept and did laundry every week! He just never put most things back in the same place twice, was all. “Besides, you could walk past the Kwoon soaked to the knees, or you could walk past in dry clothes that might not be perfectly up to your normal standards. And it’s not like you’re on duty and _have_ to be in that sexy uniform right now.” 

Tendo just rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest the reasoning. He did, however, make a jab at the last bit. “So you _do_ have a thing for men in uniform.” 

“Only when it’s you, buddy.” Then Newt remembered the donuts, and it would be a shame to leave them uneaten. So he took a detour. 

“Oh no you don’t! Give me those!” 

Newt took a breath to protest the donuts being snatched away, loudly and at his most annoying, but then a donut suddenly appeared in front of his glasses. Okay, he could work with this. He leaned forward to snag a bite of the donut instead of complaining, not bothering to take it from Tendo’s hand first. 

Tendo huffed, but it sounded fond. “Like I said. Half of these are mine, and you’ve got a bad habit of reaching for more without counting.” 

The fond exasperation got muffled halfway through with ‘talking around a mouthful.’ Who needed manners when on the front line in a war against giant monsters? 

According to most people, probably them, but who cared? Newt locked up the lab with the donut in his mouth and started off at the quickest pace that he thought wouldn’t _look_ like he was hurrying. Tendo kept pace and handed over another donut when the first was happily on its way to an all expenses paid tour of the Newton Geiszler digestive tract. And to their credit, most of the people passing in the halls didn’t give him or Tendo so much as a second glance. 

Until one of the other J-techs, that was. A second glance turned into the not-fun kind of eye-rake and Newt was so prepared to ignore it. Really. 

Until the guy spoke. “What were you doing, Choi? Testing the sprinkler system?” 

“Something like that.” Tendo was so cool that he didn’t even bristle at the obvious scorn. Newt wished he could be more like his friend. 

The tech just snorted and reached for the donut box. “Whatever. Hey, donuts! Thanks.” 

“Dude, get your own! Those are ours!” 

At the same time as Newt yelled that, Tendo smoothly twisted away so the box was out of reach. Then he repeated Newt’s sentiment in a more reasonable tone. 

“You’re sharing with K-Science and not your own department, Choi?” 

“Dr. Geiszler is my friend, Jacobs, and you’re still pretty firmly in ‘coworker I don’t really know’ territory. In the parlance of a our forefathers, _duh._ ”

Newt usually didn’t like people calling him doctor, because they fixated on that and didn’t see _him_ , but that filled Newt with the warmest, fuzziest feeling anyway. Like a litter of kittens purring in his stomach. Okay, maybe not like that, because that metaphor had gone right off the rails and into kinda creepy. Showing his appreciation definitely needed to happen, frequently, and with vigor. And not just with sex and food either. 

Tech Jacobs, or whatever, didn’t seem to have a good comeback so he turned up his nose and walked off. Then apparently he thought of something, and tossed out a parting shot. “Watch out, Choi. Everyone knows that if you spend too much time with the Kaiju-lovers down in K-Science you’ll end up catching the Blue. Someone like you should especially know better, unless you like flirting with the accessories to mass murder.” 

That... That was a _real_ low blow at Tendo, and him too, but mostly Tendo. It was so not on to make nasty comments about the Blue to someone who’d lost relatives to it. Oh, Newt was gonna-- Those were fighting words! So, he was awful at actual fighting, but he couldn’t just let that bastard talk to Tendo like that-- The warmth of Tendo’s hand on his shoulder drowned out the angry buzz in his head, and also made Newt realize how chilled he was. 

“Not worth it, my man.” Tendo gave him a crooked smile, even if it was tight around the edges, and held out half of the last donut. “But thanks for the thought.” 

Newt felt the jagged edges inside smooth out. Tendo was mad too, but he didn’t think like that about Newt. He knew Newt would never, ever take anything less than every precaution with specimens that carried even the slightest risk of contamination. He accepted the donut, feeling like he was glowing from the inside. Also shivering again, but who cared about that? “If you didn’t have that date--” 

Tendo grinned and licked a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “How about this? If you can get that report in on time, I’ll take you out tomorrow.” 

Score! But Tendo wasn’t done, and was leaning in, voice going so soft that Newt almost couldn’t hear. “And you can have your way with me all night long.” 

Well, fuck. Instant hard-on in public. Even if past experience said they might spend all night screwing around in not-having-sex ways --though maybe not this time because Newt was jonesing hard for a lay-- having Tendo’s company and undivided attention all night? Talk about a good motivator! Newt took a hurried bite of the donut to cover for the little moan that was determined to escape. Near orgasm over food was slightly more socially acceptable. Maybe. “You are way too good to me, dude. What did I do to deserve you?” 

Tendo’s grin was pure essence of cat that stole the cream. “If I ever figure it out, I’ll tell you.” 

“You dick.” 

“Good thing you like it so much then, isn’t it?” 

They both broke out laughing and took turns playfully shoving each other all the way to Newt’s room. 

When they got inside, Newt took his turn to roll his eyes. “You know I clean every week, dude.” 

Tendo was eyeing the mostly sorted by kind --and neat...ish-- piles of clean clothes all over his desk, and his laptop and sweet speaker set-up currently holding court on the desk chair. “Do I even want to know what you keep in your dresser?” 

“Uh. My monster movie collection, I think. This month.” The cuts were burning like crazy, and Newt decided he needed another shower. “I’m going to rinse off; you in? Your clothes are in the closet.” 

With most of his action figure collection, but he did respect his friend’s clothes! He kept them hung up on hangers and everything. Newt snatched what he needed off the desk and turned around to see Tendo faking wiping away a single tear. 

“Oh my god, you put something where it belongs. I’m so proud.” 

Newt rolled his eyes again and headed towards his way too tiny bathroom. Maybe he should dig out the Betadine too, because ow. He settled his clothes on the tiny shelf and made sure he had towels ready before leaning over to pull off his shoes. The cut on the back of his thigh screamed at him. Damn, but he was going to need to get a look at it. And wouldn’t it figure that it was in a spot that was almost impossible to see? 

As he stood back up and started on his shirt, a spot of warmth blossomed against his shoulder. Tendo. “Hey.” 

“Hey yourself. You should probably bandage those. They don’t look good.” 

The touch flickered over the burning, aching spots on his neck. “Don’t feel too good either, but that’s the plan after I rinse off again.” 

Newt could hear the swish and wet slap of Tendo’s clothes being shed as he continued undressing and it made him feel pleasantly warm inside. If only that warmth was literal heat, because he was shivering again. At least he wasn’t more than half hard, he thought to himself as he shucked his pants. 

“Oh fuck.” 

Wait, what? Newt half-turned, to meet Tendo’s wide-eyed gaze. “Huh?”

“Newt, your _leg_.” Whatever he was seeing, Tendo couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

Newt tried to twist and see, but only caught a glimpse, and rivulets of watered down blood dripping pink down his calf. “Is it that bad? I knew it hurt, but...” 

“You have a _hole_ in your leg. Yeah, it’s that bad.” Tendo’s mouth was a hard line. Uh-oh. “Why didn’t you go to medical?” 

“Because I spent like an hour arguing with the stupid techs there earlier to get what I needed to fix up my specimen’s leg. They probably would’ve told me to take care of it myself anyway.” Well, no worries about getting frisky. Total boner-kill right there. 

“I take back my comment on your brilliance earlier. They’re medical. Fixing people up is what they’re _there for_. They’re not allowed to turn people away.” 

“And then it’d get back to the Marshall, and we don’t always see eye-to-eye on acceptable margins of personal risk. It’s not like I was risking anyone else!” Whoops. His voice had ratcheted up into desperate there. 

And Tendo sounded furious, but was also hugging him. Hard. What? “God damn it, you complete moron. When you get hurt, it hurts the people who care about you too.”

Oh. ...Oh. Well. Um. 

Shit. 

... _Shit._

Tendo was right and he should have known it, but it still hit like a load of bricks. Tendo _cared_ \--of course he did, they were friends but there was apparently a huge difference between knowing and _feeling_ \--and whoa. It was just... 

Newt turned, pressing his forehead against Tendo’s bare shoulder. Shit. “I’m-- Sorry, I forget. Since, U-- ... Since my uncle, I haven’t--” 

How long had it been since he’d been able to really cross that gaping chasm between himself and his parents and connect with them? Since Uncle Illia’s accident? No, before that, maybe even before he graduated from MIT for his first undergrad. Certainly before he finished his first PhD. 

He knew they cared, but it felt more like they’d always cared about their perfect genius prodigy--second youngest admitted to MIT but should have been the youngest; he knew what they’d thought about him blowing off that entire year--instead of their son. That wasn’t really right or at all fair to them, because things hadn’t always been so sour, but it felt like it sometimes. 

Especially since Trespasser; since he’d woken up from screaming fucking nightmares on the second day, the third day, of the attack and knew he needed to go, to _know_ , to take the monster apart and map it out. To replace the screaming terror with awe and wonder and respect and turn the unknowable destroyer into a worthy opponent to defeat. 

He’d said ‘screw this’ to his summer session students--the ones that showed up instead of being glued to their TVs like he’d wanted to be-- and taken off to California, with only the clothes on his back and suitcase full of portable equipment he thought he’d need. He made it to San Jose before getting himself arrested, yelling at the military dudes that if they just let him through, let him see, that he could find out its secret weaknesses. He hadn’t been charged or anything, but his mother’s screaming and his father’s disappointment had been enough to keep him from getting on a plane the second time--that and a passport. 

That had been the real beginning of the end and the point of no return, and Newt hadn’t spoken with either of them since his research on the Kaiju--couldn’t stay away; never would--hit the public in November of fifteen. It was a short walk into the very widely open arms of the PPDC after that. He had a place now. A home, if not a family, and life was pretty damn good. 

And also awful right in this second, in a way that was awesome and scary and the bricks were still hitting. Newt tried to lift his head and explain, but Tendo shushed him. 

“I know. I know, Newt, so just shut up.” Tendo sighed, and lifted a hand to brush fingers through his hair. “You’re so damn hard to care about sometimes. I can’t believe I do, but I do, so just let’s not, right now. There’ll be plenty of time for the heavy shit later.”

The heavy shit. Feelings and picking apart his brain and neurosis and working out what their relationship was, really. Yeah, Newt could definitely put that off until later. The abyss of unknown heavy shit was staring back right now and dealing wasn’t something he wanted to try. So Newt bit his tongue. He could do quiet. He really could. Okay, no he couldn’t. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, man. Funny how water can make you feel grimy, huh?” 

Tendo’s response was a little shove, but he was smiling, and then the water was hot, and he almost couldn’t feel the burn in the cuts, and Tendo was close in a way that was gently warm and way more soothing than the water. 

...Not thinking about it! 

So Newt reached up and mussed Tendo’s hair--already a lost cause, but it was the intent--and Tendo got revenge by giving him a noogie and they laughed and left the heavy shit behind and unsaid. Much better. 

A few minutes of hot-water bliss later, Newt was scrubbed clean, be-toweled and mostly dry. His glasses had been de-water-spotted and now that he could see again, he was poking at the cuts on his neck. Tendo had been right about the forming bruises. The cuts and punctures looked kind of inflamed too. On the other hand, that water had been filthy, so it probably wasn’t anything to worry about. Some Betadine, gauze and tape and he’d be good to go. 

He could see Tendo getting dressed behind him, and absently admired that fine specimen of a man while he made good on his mental promise. And if his throat looked kind of like it’d been mauled and put back together after he was done, well, he never claimed to be a professional at wound-care. Maybe too much gauze-- 

His shoulder went a little easier, and a little more awkward, and he didn’t think he had any on his back. At least, if he did, they weren’t burning. The long scratches on the front of his thigh were really shallow, so he didn’t even bother to bandage, but the one on the back was still trailing sluggish beads of blood down his calf. Damn. 

“Uh, Tendo?” 

“You should go to medical.” 

“Please? I swear if it starts showing signs of infection, I’ll go?” 

Tendo’s huffed sigh was the most put upon sigh in the history of ever, but he bent and followed Newt’s instructions. Getting enough pressure to induce clotting hurt like hell, and it was all Newt could do to keep it to pained hissing between clenched teeth. 

There was actually mostly silence for a minute after they were done, while Newt finished dressing and Tendo took care of his hair. Newt hadn’t bought some of Tendo’s gel for his room on purpose, really. Totally a fortunate accident when he’d gotten a new batch of his own product. His hair didn’t look artfully disheveled on it’s own, after all!

Tendo, surprise!, was the one who broke it. “How did that last one even happen?” 

Shit. But Newt wasn’t going to lie. “You know how you figured out I knew he couldn’t get out of the tank because he tried escaping? Well, he tried climbing out using the grate...while I was on it.” 

Newt gave the quickest run-down he could, and even covered some of the things from before that. Better that Tendo know everything that had gone down, in detail, than for Tendo to find out something upsetting later and get pissed off. 

Tendo was a really amazing listener; Newt had always known that. He outdid himself this time, because Newt could tell he wanted to interrupt a couple times. When the story ended, he took a deep breath. “So it nearly killed you twice.” 

“But he let me go both times. I have no idea how well he’s able to cognitively process things, but I think on some level he recognized that I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“Or,” Tendo’s voice was sharp and soft at the same time, somehow, “you’re right about that killing method and it just couldn’t kill you because the broken leg got in the way.” 

“I like my explanation better.” 

“You would.” Tendo got in his face, hands squeezing tight on his shoulders. “Promise me that you won’t take risks like that again.” 

“I promise--”

“No buts.” 

“I promise.” No more risks. He could totally do that. It’s not like he was going to get in the tank again. He could cover the opening with some mesh for easy movability. He so didn’t want to move that portion of grate every time. And maybe he’d been right about the opening calming the specimen down. 

“You’d better bet your bottom dollar that I’m going to hold you to that. And cover the damn tank.” 

“Already on it. I need to go get some food for him to try, so I don’t go wasting PPDC resources again. I can pick up some cargo net or something that I can get on and off easy.” 

Tendo’s smile made Newt feel like something had been wrong in the world and had now righted itself. All was well. “Good. And I better go get ready to meet Jessica.” 

Newt gave Tendo a look over. Tendo looked ready _now_ , and smoking hot. “What, were you gonna meet her in uniform?” 

Tendo rolled his eyes, already heading for the door. “Hell no. Civvies it was going to be, but a man doesn’t go out on a date without a proper tie.” 

Newt felt his grin split his face. He couldn’t resist. “If you don’t want to walk across the ‘dome, you could totally borrow one of mine.” 

That made Tendo turn, framed nicely in the doorway. His face was mock-solemn, and Newt could tell by the way the corner of his mouth kept trying to twitch up. “Newt, and I say this as your friend, your taste in ties is fucking atrocious.” 

He didn’t quite make it to the end of that without smiling, and Newt laughed. Yeah, things were back to normal. Then Tendo was gone with a ‘be safe’ that Newt had a feeling would be showing up a lot for a while, and well, Newt had work to do!

He grabbed his phone and wallet, and swung by the lab quick to grab his awesome rolly cooler. It was huge, and light as a feather. He could get all the stuff he needed into it; he was only getting samples for the specimen to taste-test, was all. The specimen looked to be sound asleep, though he was still curled up in a worrying way, and Newt tried to be extra quiet as he locked the door back up. 

He had some shopping to do! LA still had a fresh fish market, and because the Shatterdome was right on the water, it was actually very close. There wasn’t nearly as much variety as there used to be, and prices for some things were through the roof, and okay, buyer beware about potential Blue contamination, but it was still a good place to shop for seafood. 

And there weren’t many people as he walked around, inspecting the wares. A lot of the people hawking had a kind of desperate look to them, and Newt was able to haggle prices down. He got himself a few different kinds of fish in different sizes, and then hunted down some clams. If he was right about the molars, maybe the specimen ate shellfish and mollusks. 

Speaking of shellfish... Well, the selection sucked hardcore, but he found a few shrimpy--ha!--shrimp and a passably intact crab that was fresh. Small, especially if it really was Alaskan, but fresh. He was really hoping the specimen turned up his nose at those, or at least went for other food first, but if it didn’t, he’d have to make due. It would just be a lot harder to argue the expense. 

He also grabbed himself some old-fashioned netting someone was trying to sell as decorative, hemp, that would work to cover the tank. The specimen could probably chew his way out, but Newt would just continue locking the lab, and there was no way he wouldn’t notice chew marks. He had some of those adhesive hooks, and he could tie it to the metal grate on the other side. Easy on, easy off. 

He was wandering around, hoping he could find some seaweed when he realized he was getting into the shady, if you could call a fish market that, part of the market. It looked like shit, with the stalls leaning and ugh, the smell in parts. Definitely not where he wanted to make any purchases, but somebody suddenly hissed at him from behind a tarp crudely pulled over an awning. The sign advertised fresh shark--meat and fins--but the guy said something totally unexpected.

Newt was sure he hadn’t heard right. “What, dude? There’s no way you said what I just thought I heard.” 

The guy twitched aside the tarp a little more. “I _said_ , you look like a soul that hungers for knowledge of the unknown! Five bucks and I’ll show you a mermaid. A real one.” 

Seriously? Did he have ‘easy mark’ pinned to his back or something? Newt was about to laugh in the guy’s face, but the thought occurred to him that shark meat might not be a bad idea to offer. Those claws could probably cut through denticles. He looked the guy up and down and squared his shoulders. 

“Look, dude, I’m a biologist. We both know that what you’ve got in there isn’t an actual mermaid. On the other hand, we’ve been getting some un-described species out of the Pacific lately, so I’ll take a look. But! 3 ounces of shark meat too, and not from the fins.”

The guy looked like he wasn’t going to budge, but Newt waved the crisp five in his face. He snatched it all of a sudden. “Fine. You’ve got a deal, ‘biologist.’”

“You’re making a killing on this for the meat, and you know it. From one of the smaller species that’s less likely to be laden with mercury and other toxins, please.” As Newt said that, he allowed the guy to hold up the tarp so he could get into the stall. 

It was close and kinda fetid inside the tarp, and a little chilly from all the ice laid out to preserve the catches. There was a big shark inside on the closest table, cut open and mostly disemboweled. Probably ruined the meat, but the guy probably almost never sold anything but the fins anyway. Actually... “Dude, that’s a Shortfin Mako. You know those are prohibited, right? They were put on the endangered list last year, and have been listed as vulnerable for years.”

The guy glared, and Newt considered that maybe he should have kept that to himself. Newt shrugged and tried to look like he didn’t give a damn about protected species, and he was sure he failed miserably, but the guy pulled aside a piece of butcher’s paper and--

“Holy shit.” Seriously needed to develop a brain-mouth filter there. Newt gulped, and tried to recover. “That’s no mermaid.” 

He’d probably already blown it with his reaction, but that was definitely part of the foreleg and paw of a member of the same species as his specimen. A juvenile from the size, and partially digested from the condition. Still, it was obvious why the guy was calling it a mermaid. The opposable first digit made it look almost like a human hand, albeit webbed and scaly. 

The guy looked so damn smug. “Then what is it, biologist?” 

“Type specimen hasn’t been fully classified and named yet, but that’s definitely a juvenile. It’s too bad you didn’t recover the tail too. That would give us a better idea of juvenile proportions. Type specimen is an adult, so we know next to nothing about growth yet.” Oh man, that definitely confirmed an Earth origin. Here was proof that there were more than one of the same species and that they were reproducing. Sad about the baby getting eaten, though. Newt wondered how parental care was for the species. Was it extended, or were the young more or less on their own from the start? 

“Big talk, but no proof. You’re talking out of your ass.” Everything about the guy was challenge, right down to his wide stance and arms crossed over his chest. “But continue bullshitting; you’re funny. What’s so special about the tail?” 

Something made Newt suspect that the forelimb wasn’t all this guy had found in the shark’s stomach. And it was exciting, so why not? “Well, the tail is a marvel. You’ve got skeletal supports, and in overall shape, the closest it comes to is probably seals and sea lions. You’ve got phalanges with webbing, and greatly reduced leg bones--so most of what you see of the tail is actually the foot. And this species has a tail portion that extends from between the flukes. About twenty five cm in adults; I have no idea about the proportions of juveniles.”

Gotcha. Newt couldn’t hide his grin as the guy went pale while he described it. The guy was a fisherman, so he definitely knew the comparisons. 

“Fuck.” 

“I _told_ you I was a biologist. I’ve been studying species displacement by the Kaiju, and this species is one of the new ones that’s popped up in the last couple years.” So that was fibbing a little, but Newt wanted this forelimb, and the shark it had been cut out of. “And, I know you’ve got part of the tail--”

The guy squawked in protest, but Newt was smaller and faster. There, on the ice behind the shark was part of a tail. Just a chunk, with most of the left fluke missing, but more than enough to prove what he’d been talking about. Now it was Newt’s turn to be smug. 

“Thought so. Let’s make a deal, dude. Give me that shark, the specimens you’ve recovered from it, and point out to me where you caught it. You won’t make shit spreading the mermaid story; who cares about fantasy creatures when there are building size aliens attacking the coast? But I’ll pay you--” Damn, that shark had to weigh a couple hundred pounds. “eight bucks a pound.” 

“Ten, or no deal.” 

“Dude, that’s an illegal fish. You could get seriously fined for having it. Eight fifty.” He was going to be broke as hell after this. 

“Nine.” And the guy was cracking his knuckles, and oh look, he had friends.

Damn. “Deal. But you deliver it to my lab, on ice.” 

“Extra one hundred for delivery.” 

Newt hated negotiating with big guys breathing down his neck. “Only if you deliver immediately and pack it up really well, right here and right now.” 

The guy considered that for a minute and then nodded. The other guys started packing the shark up in a very large crate that looked put together from several smaller ones, and the partially eaten specimens in a smaller crate. They were liberal with the ice, at least. 

Newt sighed and pulled out his wallet. Hopefully this guy took credit. “Got a credit machine?” 

The guy grinned. “Of course.” 

The poundage he charged for was so not the actual weight of the shark, but Newt just grit his teeth. He didn’t want to seem like he was backing out and get pummeled, or worse, lose the specimen. 

Then everything was packed up, and Newt was more than ready to go home to his lab. “Alright dudes, to the Shatterdome.” 

They all gaped. Newt sighed and pulled out his PPDC ID badge. “So I’m studying species displacement to track the Kaiju so we can follow them back to where they’re coming from and hopefully cut them off at the source. Consider this your contribution to the anti-Kaiju war effort.” 

Guy in charge shook his head. “No way in hell.”

“Do you want me to turn you in for catching that Mako, _and_ theft? You can drop it off at the door, as long as it gets that far. I’ll take this.” He grabbed up the smaller crate, feeling cold radiate from the inside. 

There were glares all around, but they heaved the crate up onto a couple trollies. Good enough. 

**Day 2, ???**

He woke from an uneasy sleep to the singing of his monster as she opened up the cave to the outside again. Awkwardly, this time, because she was carrying one thing, and dragging something else on the floor behind her. He had no idea what either thing was, but she immediately put the brown one in another space he hadn’t even realized was hidden in the cave wall. Mist poured out of it when she opened it up, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was. 

Not long after, other monsters came, pushing along a much, much larger object, colored brown like the first. She sang at them, and eventually, after struggling, they put it in the sub-cave with the mist while she watched. Then she sang at them again, and it looked like she was herding them back out of the cave. 

She closed it up when they were out, and then sprawled out on her moving perch for a few moments. There was no sign of her mate, and he wondered, but also felt a dull relief. He didn’t think he could bear to see them together again. 

The silence only lasted a few short while. How noisy she was! Then she was up and singing and--

No, _no_ , she was closing up the shell--

Wait, it was only woven cords, probably of dried seaweed. That couldn’t keep him in, not if he really wanted to be free. He could chew through them if he had to. But surely she’d know that, so why? 

Ugh, another thing that made no sense. He flicked his tail against the shell in agitation and it made her sing softly at him again. 

He didn’t want to hear it, and turned his back, tempted to splash her again. Why didn’t she shut up? 

She went blessedly quiet after that, but he didn’t dare turn to look, in case she took it as permission to sing again. The sounds made him burn with curiosity though. What was she doing? 

But no, he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of his attention. He wasn’t--

Blood in the water. He could smell taste it, and the fish was dead, but still good for eating. His stomach wailed for food. 

No, he wouldn’t turn and look.

He wouldn’t.

...by the currents, he already had. He snapped his irritation out in song, but it strangled inside at what he saw. 

She had arranged several kinds of food on a flat piece of not-stone, and lowered it into the shell on more cords. Whole small fish, slabs cut from larger ones, shrimp and even a crab, very small, from the northern sea. And oh--

 _Oh_. Clams. They were honestly too much work for just eating, but the shells-- The shells were excellent for large-sized measures. Not the measures he preferred to work with, but his paws ached for them already. 

She was on her perch again, singing at him, and watching closely. The gift was almost worthy of a courtship gift, though he wasn’t sure if this counted as proving her hunting prowess because the monsters hunted so differently than the people. But she had a mate, so why...?

Aside from the obvious fact that if she wanted him alive, she did need to provide him with food. Did she think that lavishing extravagant gifts on him would make him want to eat for her, to willingly be her captive?

The thought made anger roar up like a riptide, and he sang out his scorn. 

“I won’t fall for your trap, vile creature! I’m not a fool! You will not win this contest!” 

And he splashed her again, feeling a spark of joy at the way she flailed and sang out. He would not let her win, even if his only satisfaction was in wetting her down the way the monsters really didn’t seem to like. 

It made her give up and stalk away, leaving something small and dark colored on a tall platform near the shell, and he felt an odd pang that he pushed down. He’d won, at least, and showed her that he was not at her mercy, even when it came to food. He could choose not to eat. 

But he was hungry, and if he wanted to escape back to the sea, he needed to heal and be strong. 

Surely it was winning to use her unwittingly to fuel his escape? 

He didn’t have to eat it all, just the most choice offerings that were the best and hardest to get. 

Yes, that was what he would do. So he swam close, inspecting the fish. The best piece was tuna, with rich meat that was good for pregnant or nursing mothers because it made them healthy and their fur shine. 

Or sometimes made them very sick, but that was only when there was poison in the flesh. He hoped there was no poison in this, because he needed to eat it. It smell-tasted so good... 

And made him feel bloated, like when he’d stuffed himself so much his belly had distended as a child. His belly had not distended now, but oh, it felt like it. Perhaps he wouldn’t be eating all of the choice meat now. 

But, he could hide them where she would have trouble seeing. He sang to himself, thinking of the joy he’d feel when he outsmarted her. 

And then realized he was singing just to hear his own song. It reminded him too much of her and he stopped suddenly, angry at himself. 

It didn’t bear thinking of, just one small mistake, so he went with a will at the problem of deciding what was worth hiding. It all smelled fresh, if unusually cold, so it would keep for a little while before rotting too much. 

The crab first, because she must have went through so much trouble to get it, and it made him feel smugly pleased of depriving her of the meal for herself, because surely that would be what she would do with what he didn’t accept. It would be a waste otherwise. 

Then the mackerel, because they were very good eating, and usually plentiful too. After that, the decisions became more difficult, but after several trips he was satisfied with his choices, and had the clams clutched close to his chest between his gills. 

For a few moments, he gave into his urge and put the clams through the patterns of basic measures, finding comfort and familiarity. He’d have to clean out the shells eventually, and then break the pairs apart, but for now it was enough. 

Then he looked at the not-metal and realized he’d taken everything but the shrimp and the acrid piece of shark. And he certainly wasn’t going to leave that to foul up the water with its smell-taste. Shark was edible, but awful, and large ones would eat children, if they got close enough. So he grabbed it up and managed to finally push it out under the cords. It left a trail on the shell and then finally splatted on the floor. Much better. 

Much... better... 

He woke again sometime later, but he could not tell how long. His belly didn’t feel so stuffed though, so he chanced one of the mackerel. Again he was left feeling too full after so little, but he didn’t mind. He had enough to eat in small amounts for a while, after that gift. 

His monster was in another part of the cave, doing... something. He didn’t know what and couldn’t see the strange markings that she was looking at clearly. Part of him wanted to call out, interrupt and demand her attention but he kept quiet and went back to the clams. 

Working out familiar measures, even when the clams were awkward for the task, was soothing, and he felt himself going pleasantly leaden. 

When he woke again, it was to the unpleasant sound of her lifting the not-stone out of the shell. She was moving very slowly, and her eyes drooped down again and again. Why was she so tired? 

Then the not-stone tipped and one of the shrimp fell off. He caught it in his teeth, and in a sudden burst of annoyance threw it right up into her face. 

Her sputtering was hilarious and made him so amused that he had to turn in a circle to express the full extent of his laughter. 

Her burst of song in return was short, sharp, and dull, and she moved away with nothing more, leaving him to his own devices again. 

He wondered at it, but forcefully distracted himself with measures again, and went to work opening the clams so he could double the shells for his measures. 

Time didn’t matter as much while working on his new task, and the meat from the clams came with enough gaps that he didn’t feel so incredibly bloated after eating. 

When he finally looked up to see what his monster was up to, she was sprawled in her perch, clearly asleep. For a moment he considered returning to cleaning the shells, but then anger burned up in him again, hot and vile. He’d been denied any kind of rest at their paws for so long, so why should she be allowed it?

He sang at her, hitting a clam against the shell until she jerked awake. When she fell from the perch and the small black things on her face skid across the ground... 

It wasn’t as amusing as it should have been. He didn’t want to think about it, so he turned his back and went at cleaning the clam shells with new focus. 

\--and this time he woke to her singing, but not at him. She had something white and flat in her paws, and whatever it was, she seemed very pleased with it. Something bitter filled him, but this time he pushed it away and focused on the last clam that he needed to pry open instead. 

She was asleep, spread over the wide, flat platform, when he looked up next, and this time he bit back the urge to force her awake. 

Only because she might disturb his measures if she was awake, of course.


	5. Lab Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Ableist language, and also some small flashbacks to Hermann's torture.

**Day 3, Newt**

Newt woke with a crick in the neck and one of the first drafts of his report glued to his cheek with drool. Gross. And for a moment he couldn’t figure out what the heck had woken him up. It wasn’t even two yet. 

Then a small voice called his name again. There was Mako Mori, tiny and cute, in the door, and peaking in like she wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

And it might not be, but for Newt, and not for her. The Marshall was subtly protective of his new adopted daughter--adopted if the gossip in the Shatterdome was correct, but no one dared to say it out loud--and didn’t tolerate things endangering her. It was her own choices that kept her tied to the ‘dome, just at that age where she was learning to stretch her wings. Ah, the early teenage years; he remembered them sort of fondly. Wait, was she officially yet? Eh, it didn’t matter. 

She didn’t really look her age, but there was still time for that, and the couple of times he’d seen her, she had been achingly polite and quiet. He had no idea why she’d want to come into the lab, but he wasn’t going to turn her away. 

“Come on in! The lab’s open, and there’s nothing hazardous out. What’s up?” He sounded more awake and cheerful than he felt. He needed coffee really badly. 

She came in confidently enough but paused when it came to answering the question. 

Hm. Her English was pretty damn good, he remembered, but there were some times when he had trouble finding the right words in the right languages, so maybe... He switched to Japanese. “We can talk like this if you want.” 

It made her giggle, at least, but she shook her head and answered in careful English. “You sound like--” and there was a pause while she searched for the word, “a tourist.” 

English it was. “So I’ve been told! You should hear my German; my accent is apparently the worst kind of disgrace.” 

He’d spent too long cultivating a very American accent after moving to the States from Berlin with his parents. It hadn’t made the other kids look at him as less of a freak in the end, but it had totally bled into every other language he spoke to plenty of dismay. Just not Newt’s usually. He got his point across just fine, and who cared about his accent?

But accents weren’t why Mako was here, so Newt got up and stretched. He always felt more awake if he was up and moving. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here. I am totally at your service. Anything you want, just name it!”

Wait. “Almost anything. If it’s dangerous I’ll need to file a strenuous objection in triplicate before giving it to you.” 

And there was a little smile that was almost devious. Excellent. She took another couple of dainty steps into the lab and Newt let himself fall in beside her. Finally, the pressure was too much, and she actually blurted out the words. “I was told you have a little Kaiju. I... want to see.” 

So that’s what it was. Newt wrinkled his nose at the persistent misinformation. “That’s it. I’m so sending out a Shatterdome-wide memo. He’s not a Kaiju, kid. Earth-native, even if I have no idea what Family he belongs to, like, at all.” 

“Oh.” It was hard to tell if she was upset or relieved, and Newt suddenly wanted to take back what he’d said. 

Too late, so he did the next best thing. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t see him. He’s pretty amazing. Just stay back, because he’s also a grump and will soak you.” 

She nodded, and approached on cat’s feet, even if she had those cute little hard-soled shoes that should be clicking merrily on the lab floor. Newt followed, and held a hand out when they got into splash range.

Before boldly stepping right into it himself. So what if he got a little wet? “Beautiful, isn’t he? Just look at that articulation along the shoulders, and the way his spine moves so fluidly. He’s a wonder.” 

The specimen, for his part, seemed pretty interested, right up against the glass of the tank, with the rest of him flowing out behind like a ribbon. Golden eyes kept flicking between Newt and Mako, and he drew his forelegs up against his chest, floating higher with a flick of those flukes.

Newt looked back with a grin, to see Mako had followed. Well, she’d been warned. A moment later she put her small hand against the glass, having to tip her head back to see. 

“He is pretty. I like the colors.” she agreed, but there was a little purse of her mouth, like maybe there was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. 

Or, Newt thought that might be the expression, anyway. And he could definitely see why she liked the colors, and maybe a little bit why the Kaiju comparison kept coming up. He was perfectly countershaded, if Newt did say so himself, nearly blue-black dorsally and fading to pale cream ventrally. The sides and a bit of the back were mottled with a steely blue and a few touches of white, like, what was that called--blue merle in dogs. There was a fawn red under the muzzle, and bold streaks down the sides of the neck. The same red reappeared, but looking almost faded, in spare streaks and spots along the stomach and tail, with the paws and most of the hind flukes nearly solid for the color and spotted with the cream instead. It was the perfect kind of disruptive coloration to break up an outline underwater, and it was awesome. There was an especially lovely mottling of cream, fawn, and the palest shade of steel blue along the throat too. 

Which Newt got a very good look at as the specimen drifted back down again so he was nearly eye-level. Then to Newt’s surprise, he put his paw on the glass opposite Mako’s hand. 

That got a smile, and Mako moved even closer. Definite expression of wonder there. The specimen tilted his head back and forth in response and then executed a slow roll. Mako’s little “oh!” of delight warmed Newt’s heart. He was glad they were getting along, and that he wouldn’t have the Marshall on his ass for getting her soaked through. 

Then she looked up at him and said something that totally blew him away. “I think... he looks a little like a dragon.” 

“Oh my god.” Wait, that definitely bore repeating. “Oh my god. You’re so right. I mean, there’s definitely a lot of differences, but basic body plan, and the way he moves-- Oh my god, we’re probably looking at the _source_ for dragon myths in East Asia.” 

They weren’t just otter-like, they were otter-dragons. What a find! Newt wanted to crow to the world what he’d discovered. Or the bastard had discovered, but as far as Newt was concerned, abusing the specimen meant giving up rights of discovery. He opened his mouth to tell Mako how amazing--

And he got splashed. It was only a little one, barely more than soaking his shoulders, but Mako danced away from the splash-zone, laughing. Newt glared at the tank, and he swore the specimen looked smug as hell. 

“You and me, buddy. We’re gonna have to have a _talk_ about this splashing thing.” And for a moment, Newt thought he might get splashed again, but that familiar string of sounds was fired at him, and then the specimen went to the back of the tank and fished up the crab. 

Newt couldn’t help watching in amazement as he started methodically cracking open the shell between those molar-like teeth in back and delicately picking the meat out with the front paws. Definitely a big enough portion of their diet to have such an adaptation. He wasn’t sure what else such teeth could be used for off the top of his head. 

And he swore the specimen was looking at him like... Like “haha I got your crab, sucker.” Or maybe he was imagining it. But he swore there was, like, a challenge, there.

But he had a guest, so he couldn’t stare awestruck for long. When Newt turned, Mako was still very amused. He sighed and wiped off his glasses. The rest of him would dry off soon. 

She gave him a little bow and a thank you, but didn’t leave right away. Huh, maybe she wasn’t just here to see the “Kaiju.” Newt cleared his throat. “I’ve got some specimens to start on. You can stay if you want, but it’ll be messy!” 

“If watching won’t bother you.” 

Bingo. “Nope, not at all, as long as nobody thinks you’ve gone missing.” She shook her head, and Newt started rolling up his sleeves. “Then pull up my desk chair and take a seat. I got my hands on a shark that might hold some clues to where the Kaiju are coming from.” 

Now _that_ got her interest, and Newt didn’t mention the juvenile of the specimen that he had. She didn’t need to see a dead baby otter-dragon. But, he was going to work on that after the shark, and... well, it didn’t feel _right_ to work on a baby right near an adult of the same species. So he set up a little makeshift privacy curtain between the work tables and the tank. He knew he’d forget if he waited until later. 

That set up, he had to get the shark out of his walk-in storage. And holy hell, it was heavy, even still on a trolly. It wouldn’t fit on anything but his largest table too, and he was glad his specimen wasn’t a shark, because that would be partially in view. But the specimen had probably encountered sharks before, and if sharks even opportunistically ate baby otter-dragons, he didn’t think he would mind. If he even understood what was going on.

Getting the shark on the table actually wasn’t hard. That’s what he had that winch for, after all, and tracks on the ceiling so it could be moved to any part of the lab. Mako was perched on his chair, looking interested, so Newt started explaining as he got a few basic measurements and jotted them down. 

“This is a Shortfin Mako. Spelled just like your name is in English, actually! On the endangered list for a while, and after the first Kaiju, there was a movement to track them. They travel way more than a lot of species of sharks, and can cover thousands of kilometers. And this baby is an older shark, so she’s probably been around long enough to have a good chance of a tag. I’m also going to pull out one of the vertebra to check her age, and take some samples for chemical analysis.”

As he did that, he pulled on gloves and started taking the samples he was talking about. The flesh was stiff, but not quite frozen, which he’d found was a good temperature for preservation but didn’t hinder research too much. To her credit, Mako didn’t grimace or turn away, even when he pulled out one of the vertebra and set it aside. There really wasn’t much else to check, and he didn’t need the body for anything else, but Newt could figure out disposal later. The last thing he did was check for the tag, and yes, yes, yes! 

“She’s got one! Let’s plug it in and see where she’s been, shall we?” Newt had to rinse it off first, but they were made to be accessed, so it took hardly any work at all to get things set up on his projection screen. It wouldn’t be a problem to backtrack along her course for likely spots where she would have encountered the baby. 

The map popped up with a red trail scrawling across it. The last couple of weeks had the shark getting really close to shore and then suddenly veering off. And then coming back. Why so close-- Makos were ovoviviparous, weren’t they? Newt thought he remembered them swimming into shallower waters to give birth, or was that the other Mako species? Oh man, she’d been pregnant, hadn’t she? Damn fishermen. He’d have to check, but later.

It was the wrong time of year too, but he’d already been reading reports of Kaiju Blue and other stresses messing with breeding cycles, so that was probably what was happening if the shark was indeed pregnant. 

Mako was looking at the line with interest, and when Newt glanced over, he had the specimen’s attention too. At least he wasn’t acting too stressed out. Then the teenager got up and pointed to the way the line kept veering. “I don’t understand this part.” 

“Well, I’ve got a theory--” Oh man, he really shouldn’t have spoken. Damn, that expectant look was hard to refuse. “Here’s the deal. There’s a lot of places on the coast now that Blue has spread to, right? And Makos give live birth in the shallows, I’m pretty sure. It’s kind of the wrong time of year, but she might have--”

Whoops, he’d upset her. Mako’s mouth went pinched and her eyes went wide, then she shot the shark the saddest look he’d seen in a long while. 

“Yeah. The fisherman who caught her really shouldn’t have kept her. But there’s nothing we can do, except make sure we find out everything we can. If the theory is right, the sooner we stop all the Kaiju, the better, you know?”

The veering gave him and idea, so Newt went to punch in some numbers. He had all the dates of the Kaiju attacks memorized, and memorialized into his tattoos--cleverly worked into the lines and shading--so it wasn’t hard to pull up a set of data on attack days. Day after day the shark hadn’t been anywhere near, and Newt was about ready to admit defeat when he pulled up the last day he hadn’t checked yet. Was that? Yes.

“See? Look at this! Makos are always on the move, so Kaiju wouldn’t be effecting their ranges so much, but that veering made me wonder... And you can see here, date and time of the attack. Actually this is a little before the Kaiju was spotted by our radar and sensors, but the Mako was in the correct area. Look how the line is going along, nice and smooth, and then goes haywire and then back the other way. It’s on one of the proposed approaches to the first contact point too! Here.”

Newt circled that point with his finger, and then backtracked. Based on what he knew and had theorized about swimming speed, the timing was pretty much dead on. He needed way more data, but it looked like the shark might have been in the Kaiju’s path and then gotten the hell out of dodge when it got close. This was an incredibly lucky find. Like, unbelievably lucky. More data! He could--

“Doctor?” 

Whoops, he’d forgotten Mako was in the room. “Um. Yeah?” 

She had a tiny smile on her face. “You talk a lot.” 

“Yeah, I do. I think better out loud so...” Funny how a thirteen--twelve?-- year old could make him feel sheepish. 

She went all serious in the next second and sounded way older than her age. “You think this will help us find them?”

“I need a ton more data, because as it is, this is just a coincidence, but if we can _find_ enough disruptions like this, our math dudes should be able to plot out courses with enough accuracy to find where the convergence is and bam! Our game of hide-and-seek with the entry point will be over in our favor. There’s some other ideas I have about my specimen that might help us too.” 

Her firm little nod didn’t do a thing to belay her smile. “Good--” 

And his alarm was going off. Oh, right. The report was due, and go figure, Newt didn’t remember if he was supposed to go deliver it, or if the Marshall was taking a trip down to the lab. At least the report was finished! He’d just have to apologize if he picked the wrong one. 

“Looks like it’s time to turn in my report. Probably not a good idea for you to--”

“Dr. Geiszler.” 

Oh look! He was saved from that choice, though the Marshall didn’t look too happy with him. But Mako had been enjoying herself, okay! ...He thought. But she rushed over, sounding excited yet subdued with her greeting and Newt was careful to tune what she was saying out while he fetched his report. Better not to listen than accidentally spill something he wasn’t supposed to!

Newt hummed, feeling fine. He’d hand over the report, finish up with the shark and an idea he’d just had, change the water in the tank and then go catch up with Tendo and have an awesome night. 

What could go wrong?

**Day 3, ???**

That was one puzzle solved, at least. From the way the child just had greeted the very large male and how that compared to the way the child had come into the cave, it surely wasn’t the child of his monster. That solution created more questions, of course, like why she had been watching over the child in the first place, but he was satisfied to have that question solved. And as for the rest, he remembered vaguely that groups often appointed the youngest, childless member or pair as caretakers for the children old enough to wander but not yet enough to venture alone. It was a distant and strange fact to him, almost like belonging to another world, because much like himself and his own mate, his parents had considered the benefits of swimming in a group to be not nearly enough to offset the increased risk of being caught or seen by the two-legged monsters. He’d never known a group in the true sense, and bitterly he wondered now if it had ever made any difference to the amount of risk at all. Here he was in the monsters’ shell, alone--so achingly alone-- and wracked with grief and pain. Shunning groups had not saved his mate, his child, or himself. Perhaps if he hadn’t been such a profound social cripple, his mate’s radiance and kindness could have attracted another, maybe even another pair, to group with them, and that additional aid been enough to prevent--

No! He would not dwell on things that were not. He would not dig the claws of ‘what if’ into his mind. What was real, was real, and there was nothing else that mattered.

So he focused on what was real and now, and saw the child being gestured out by the large male. For a moment, he wished the child could stay. It was far quieter than his monster, for one, and had a sweet, soft song. Children were innocent, no matter what they were, and he was sure he’d seen that reflected in its strangely mobile face. Another thing he needed to ponder, because he was sure that their faces held secrets he didn’t have the measures to decode. But later. 

He had found it almost pleasant to watch his monster and the child, as long as he didn’t think too long about the shark. He was certainly glad to see a potential child-killer out of the sea, but looking at it laid out on that not-stone slab had made memories swim up and mob him. 

\--Cords wrapped around his neck until he strangled from not getting enough water through his gills--

\--Not-stone objects that sent pain through every part with a single touch, and left his body jerking and twitching, seized up so he couldn’t command even a single movement out of his limbs--

\--Males even thicker and heavier than this one here forcing him down on a slab, while the vile one forced things into him, cut him, tore pieces away--

\--Their paws, everywhere, touching-squeezing-pulling-poking with bruising disregard until he could only cry for the touching to stop-- 

He shook himself all over, reciting measures in his head until the memories gave up and left him. He knew that whatever his monster wanted, she’d shown no desire for those awful things and she had even tried to shield him from having to see. She just obviously had no head for measures. Her attempts to measure the shark had probably even come up wrong too. She hadn’t done much besides that, at least while he could bear to look, just pulled a bone free from its back. And healers, superstitious lot that they were, had uses for every bone so that wasn't too strange. Some things they did with bones were even useful, such as using bones to support broken limbs, but most were simply ridiculous. A circlet of seal bones to ease the ache of swollen joints? Ground up whale bones so a child would grow big and strong? Worthless superstition, all of it. 

Still, he’d wondered what the bone was for and idly if perhaps she was a healer herself, at least until she’d made the image appear. It was an impression, no doubt, like the beautiful transient decorations scratched into sand or colored stone and shell laid out in cascading patterns on the sea floor. But an impression based on measures, he’d realized, because after staring at it, he could see the shape of the measures of the shoreline, but rendered in lines and designs. He was looking at an impression of the entire sea, though what the red that cut through it meant as it changed, he could not guess. 

He had gnawed on that question until the large male had appeared, skin dark and with a healthy sheen--and suddenly he wondered if his monster wasn’t very healthy, given how pale she was--and now that the child had been sent out, his monster was presenting the white objects she’d sung over earlier. Another thing that had an obvious meaning that escaped him. The male sang back like the slow, deceptively smooth yet powerful roll of a calm sea. 

His monster nearly danced around, song quick and high, and gestured at the impression, the shark, and him in turn. It seemed that she would go on and on, but the male sang out a short series of sounds and she quieted. She even went still, mostly. 

He tried to commit the sounds to memory, for practice, because something to quiet her at will would be wonderful. Not that her song was entirely awful, just very, very there. _All the time._

Then both monsters were walking toward the shell and--Massive meaty paws holding, hurting, tearing him apart--

The memory faded as quickly as it came, allowing itself to be pushed back, but he suddenly couldn’t stand to be anywhere near such a large male. The back of the shell drew him up short, and then the monster, his monster, was suddenly in between. She sang at the male, and actually forced him to move back. Then she was at the side of the shell, song low and crooning. Had she just...protected him? 

He had a feeling that the large male was allowing it but all that one did was call her back and then touch a paw to his own neck. 

She did too, but more like she was trying to cover up and hide the white things she’d put over his claw-marks. 

The large male looked right up at the shell then, at him, but only sang something quietly and walked away. In his wake she flitted around like a nervous little fish, moving things around and spending time tapping against what looked to be a collection of small stones. Each touch made a new mark appear on the object in front of her, and he needed to know what those meant. He would have been annoyed at her, but even now his heart was thudding with uncertainty and fear. There was _power_ in that large male, and he felt suddenly like his life might be hanging balanced on the male’s approval. 

Was that male a two-legged harem keeper? He shuddered at the thought. 

She’d been busy while he’d been distracted though, and suddenly the not-stone lifted off the shell with a loud sound. She was using the same object that had lifted the shark so easily and he froze in confusion. 

What was she doing? Was she letting him go? Taking off the blockage so she could pull him out and do terrible things? He shivered with the conflicting feelings. 

Moments passed, tense and uncertain He pressed himself to the side of the shell, and even her song did nothing to help while she continued with whatever she was doing. 

She had gotten long cords that ended with sharply curved claws, and lowered them into the water. He huddled as small as he could, seeing those claws digging into him inside his head. Small cries escaped him, but he couldn’t bring himself to even try to stop the noise. 

And she kept singing, voice soft and cracking between high and low. But she didn’t stop until the claws clinked against the not-stone he’d been bound to. She twitched her clever paws on the cords and one after another the claws hooked onto the not-stone. Then slowly, singing so soft all the while, she lifted it up like the first and didn’t stop until it was also resting on the cave floor. 

Relief that she was taking that awful object away, hopefully forever, filled him and he sank to the bottom, still shivering, but feeling warm and... loose. Giddy, almost. He wanted to rub all along her and wrap his tail-- well, monsters must express joy and thanks in different ways. 

She had gotten down at some point and now she pressed her paw against the shell like the child had done. He’d mirrored the child’s action out of curiosity, but this time out of a want for... he wasn’t sure. But he mirrored it first with one paw, and then both, suddenly patting them against the shell in a flurry, wishing for touch in a burst of wild, unrestrained emotion. She made a noise that was better than basking on warm sand in the brightest summer sunshine and he echoed it with a laugh. 

He felt a moment of disappointment when she left the side of the shell and watched with caution as she deployed the claws again. He didn’t think she was going to hurt him, not really, but the fear still roiled in spite of the logic. The claws didn’t go near him, though, because she kept them as far against the far side of the shell as she could, making soft clinking noises as they bumped against it. What she was doing this time, he had no idea...

Oh! She was going to pull the not-stone ropes out too. 

Yes, that was good. He turned in a circle, then another, to express his approval. 

Except that she couldn’t get the claws to hook onto the ropes. They kept drifting and slipping off instead of catching. He even thought her song might be getting a note of frustration in it. 

Part of him wanted to sing out to her. Tell her to come into the water and fetch them with her own paws. He wouldn’t hurt her; not this time. He just wanted to show her the giddy joy--soft, kind, caring--she had given him with all that she’d been doing. 

The more sensible part of him suggested that he bring the ropes up to her instead. After another moment, that part won out. 

The ropes were surprisingly heavy when he grabbed them, and the struggle to bring them up made his leg ache horribly. The pain didn’t feel so soft anymore, and he quietly mourned the loss of even that small relief. In the end, he just grabbed one end and brought it up. Once she got a hold of it, it was easy for her to pull the rest out, singing bright and so loud the whole time. Then he had to go down twice more to get the two other lengths of it. 

And while she pulled out the last one, he decided that if they were cleaning, he could get rid of the crab shell and fish bones. It took a little work, but he got them scooped up and eventually, after a couple of attempts, over the side of the shell. She sang at him for that, and he got the impression that she wasn’t very pleased as she bent to scoop them up herself and carry them over to a shell that had been sitting nearby on the floor. He tossed one last bone at her, just because. 

It landed in her head fur, and she snapped out a short... that was definitely a complaint. He just laughed. 

Then she started the water draining out of the shell again. He wasn’t worried, not this time, and in his attempts to figure out how, discovered another false-eel coming out from under the shell and directing the water towards the grouping of small holes. Oh, so that’s how it was. Interesting. 

He didn’t flinch when she used the eel to wash him down again, enjoying the clean water running over him. Not that it had been too filthy yet, but he appreciated that she was doing her best to keep everything perfectly clean. She scurried off while the shell filled up, and came back with more food. 

And as he watched, put something small and white inside a cut in a piece of fish. Did she really think he wouldn’t notice? What was that small white thing anyway? 

When she put it in the water, probably expecting him to gobble it down, he flipped it right back up into her face. She sang again, with that frustrated note, but gathered it up, made sure the white thing was still inside the meat and then held it out in her paw. 

He swam back and forth, only the top of his head above water, feeling conflicted. It was true that she’d done nothing at all that wasn’t helpful. But could he trust her not to start with pain and degradation?

She was trusting him, putting her paw so close where he could just lean up and snap his teeth into her flesh. 

“This had better not be poison, monster.” 

He took the bit of fish. It wasn’t even a mouthful. He could swallow it whole. He put it in his mouth, working his tongue around to feel for...

\--and spit it right back out. Such a bitter taste infecting the fish! It was the white thing!

She made a loud sound he was pretty sure wasn’t singing, and banged her head against the thing she’d been climbing up to the edge of the shell on. 

And the white thing was starting to break up and infect the water with its taste, so he flipped it back up, into her fur this time. 

That was a shriek. It made him amused, but also worried. He didn’t want to make her mad, but how stupid did she think he was? 

After shrieking, she just flicked the fish off her head and threw it into the shell that the other leavings had gone into. Then with a breath that shook her whole body, and a narrow eyed gaze at him, she stalked across the cave. A few moments and a brief stop to wash her paws and head later, she was back with something white that rattled as she moved. A twist of her paws split one end open, and more of the small, bitter white things spilled out. 

He had a sudden fear that she would bind him and force them down his throat, but she just huffed out another breath and rubbed at her head and neck as if pained. 

Then she sang something at him and put one of the bitter white things into her own mouth. He saw it resting on her tongue before she swallowed and shook her head, mouth twisting, and made gagging noises. Given how bitter those things had tasted, he couldn’t blame her, but why...? 

She interrupted the thought by opening her mouth at him, as if to show him she really had swallowed it, then very deliberately put another white thing into a bit of fish before holding it out. The message was suddenly perfectly clear. She had swallowed one herself as a show of faith. What would poison him would probably poison her too. 

He didn’t like the idea, but her song sounded almost sad, and everything she had done _had_ been to help him, so far. Maybe his idle musings earlier about her being a healer had been more correct than he’d thought. She was still a monster, but if she was a healer too... 

It made a sudden sense of several puzzles that had been plaguing him. It explained why she had taken such a desperate tack when he’d pinned her, instead of fighting back. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, even if it risked her own life. And it explained why she tried to protect him, and even had attacked the vile one when she’d first seen him. 

It probably meant the bitter thing was some superstitious cure, like dried eggs or ground up shells, but at least it probably wouldn’t make him sicker or hurt worse. 

So he steeled himself and leaned up out of the water to take that bite of fish from her paw. Swallowing it quickly only left a ghost of the bitter flavor, but he also got a nose full of her scent, mixed with the intoxicating scent of food. Her scent was soft and pleasant, but the fish-scent just made his stomach sing out in wild hunger. Before his mind could catch up with the rest of him, he’d licked the taste off of her paw, and he ducked himself back under the surface immediately in mortification. 

She didn’t seem bothered that he could tell, and just made that sound he could only call joy again. A moment later she’d pulled up the not-stone laden with fish and lowered it to the surface of the water. It smelled wonderful and made his mouth water. The sheer variety was amazing. Where had she gotten all of these? Some of the fish he knew lived in widely separated parts of the sea. 

Another thought hit on the tail of that one, though. This only showed off her freedom and his captivity. And that made sick, hot anger rise up his gorge in a rush. Suddenly he wanted to drag her down and trap her there, only letting her up when absolutely necessary to keep her from drowning completely. He could imagine how she’d cry and plead, and maybe cling, dependent on his mercy for life-giving air--

The feeling flowed in and out like the tide, and left him full of something terribly heartsick and disgusted in its wake. He didn’t really want to harm her, or do anything so awful; he just wanted _the sea_ , with scent-taste of home and the people.

He blinked, realizing that somehow, caught up in that, he’d knocked the fish to the bottom of the shell, along with the not-stone. She was holding stock-still, forepaws pressed against her chest and her odd, yet pretty, green-colored eyes as wide as he’d ever seen them. 

He knew in that moment that he needed to apologize, so he dove down to retrieve the not-stone. The food could stay where it was; he’d eat later. 

She gasped out something more breath than song when he resurfaced, and slowly reached out for it. Her paw was shaking and he felt--

In that moment a flash of something possessed him and he had no name for it. He moved forward to grab the side of the shell and pressed his other paw over her shaking one, careful to keep his claws from so much as touching her so delicate skin. He felt her shaking still, and for a moment there was peace. 

Then she started singing. It was quieter than usual, at least. 

He huffed his annoyance. “You sing too much.” 

She just sang something in return, and put the not-metal down. Then she bit at her own mouth with her flat teeth and reached out with her other paw. And then drew it back. And then reached again. And then back--

Honestly, when had she gotten so hesitant? Out of annoyance, and not at all out of a sudden want to be touched, he tipped his head towards her paw. It brushed one of his tendrils, and suddenly he could feel her living-current. It was a pleasant feeling, making his whiskers twitch, so he moved the tendril to keep the contact and one of her clever digits moved too, leaving them wrapped around each other. It felt nice, so close. So good. 

Part of him was screaming like a greedy child--more, more, please more!--but after a moment of shock, the rest of him was just screaming, lost in a sea where touch only hurt and stole. 

It overwhelmed and he dived to get away from it all. Down at the bottom of the shell, surrounded by lifeless water, he felt less anxious but also incredibly alone. It hurt, but he didn’t think he could stand surfacing again. 

So he ate instead, and the fish was still strangely cold, but good. When he was finished, he felt far too full again after so little, and also very sleepy. He almost missed her putting the not-stone on top of the shell again, but he didn’t miss her song, or the fact that she hadn’t hooked the cords on the little white claws she’d somehow stuck to the outside of the shell. It felt like a message, and he wondered if maybe she would help him escape to the sea someday. 

And then she would abandon her mate, transform magically into a person, and follow him home. A perfectly believable and normal thing to have happen. He wanted to berate himself for his foolish notions but didn’t have the energy. 

He must have slept, because the next he was aware, the pain had somehow gone soft again, maybe even better than the first time, and there were other monsters in the cave now. 

There were three of them, and his monster was standing between the shell and them. He felt sudden fear, but she didn’t seem upset. The strangers were all in the same color false skins, and even each had the same colorful impression decorating them. It was in the shape of a shark. In fact, more than just the shape, but the colors too. They were lifting the dead shark into the brown object it had been brought into the cave in, and then two of them took the shark away, while his monster and the third sang at each other. 

Then they clasped paws briefly and it looked like his monster would follow the other out, but the other suddenly turned and started coming right for the shell. He withdrew to the back, very uneasy, but again, like before, his monster interfered. Her song got louder and she planted herself between, only moving to follow when the other monster finally turned and left. 

She stayed in the entrance for a few moments, and then turned and came all the way back to the shell. He saw that she looked very tired again, eyes half-closed, and leaning her weight against the shell. 

He felt concern. “Don’t be stupid. You should sleep again; just look how tired you are.” 

That made her look up, and her face changed. She sang something back and pressed her paw against the shell. He hesitated, but what would it hurt? So he mirrored the action, and got a soft burst of song for his actions. 

There were definite patterns, and he needed to start putting them together. Oh, how he wished he had a full set of measures to work them out. 

She had gone quiet though, which was unusual, though not entirely unwelcome. He decided to let it pass without comment, and studied her instead. The only place she really had fur was on top of her head, but he saw strangely short whiskers along her jaw, barely visible except up close. Her nostrils couldn’t close, but he knew that land-creatures without gills wouldn’t need that, though it made him wonder why the monsters went so far from land in their floating caves. If they fell off into the sea, they would surely drown. Her face was flat-muzzled, which looked odd, but he could see how mobile it was, and how her mouth could twist into so many shapes. It was a marvel and a mystery all at once. 

And then, of course, her too short neck, and wide shoulders. Her chest looked flattened, and he wondered if that made it harder for her to breathe. Her forelimbs, though, were amazingly flexible, probably more than his, and oh, how long her hindlegs were. She held them straight beneath her, but they were thick, and he thought she must be able to move like lightning on land when she wanted. Her paws were strangely shaped, even if the black things were false-paws as he suspected they were. And she didn’t have a tail, which was probably the strangest thing of all. 

How strangely the monsters were put together, and yet, with their dextrous paws, somehow they made it work. 

And of course, his musings would be interrupted. Her mate. Oh _joy_. 

Actual joy for her, though, from the way she moved. She was across the floor in a moment, putting her forelimbs around his neck and pressing their mouths together. Some sort of greeting? 

He sang something at her, paws resting against her flanks, and she arched her back, pressing her whole front against-- ...if not for the false skins that movement would press where her slit probably was against his--

Oh by the currents why was he thinking such things?!

He turned himself around so his tail was towards them and picked up the shells. But his paws trembled and he couldn’t help glancing back to see-- 

They were leaving. Good, he wouldn’t have to watch them mate right in front of him. Mannerless, disgusting...

Then they were gone and he barely held back the urge to cry out until she returned.

Damn _him_ to the darkest deep.


	6. Date Night Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-chapter shout-out to all the amazing folks who've left comments! You guys are awesome and say such insightful things. I want to reply to you all individually, but, I am so tempted to spoil things with some of them, you have no idea. I have so much worldbuilding and plans, and I want to describe it all right now. But! I like to think I'm slightly better at keeping a lid on that kind of thing than Newt so I'll focus on writing more of the story instead. Thank you all for your comments!
> 
> Now that we're starting to delve into the details of Tendo and Newt's relationship, yes it isn't healthy, and they are both aware of this (and attempting to improve it). This may or may not be bad enough to require its own warning, so mentioning it here just in case.

**Day 3, Newt**

After Newt’s awesome and sexy greeting, if Newt did say so himself and he did even with the comment from Tendo about not having brushed his teeth--and hey, he’d been really busy!--making it less then awesome, Tendo merely leaned against the wall, and looked cool. In Newt’s expert opinion. But there was an edge to his voice that belayed the relaxation in his pose. “You stink like fish.” 

Newt didn’t look up from locking up the lab, knowing that even his laugh sounded just a little nervous. “So would you if you’d spent the afternoon elbows deep in shark innards! And my grumpy lab-mate has learned to show displeasure with his meals by throwing fish at my head. He’s got really great aim.” 

“You’re being careful, right?” But Tendo wrinkled his nose and didn’t give Newt a chance to answer right away. “I can’t take you anywhere, I swear. And where the hell did you get a shark?”

Important questions first. “Yes! Super careful.” 

And that wasn’t strictly true, but Newt plowed onward. It wasn’t like getting so close with the tank wide open had gotten him pulled in and drowned. It had ended awesome instead and later, when he wasn’t feeling exhausted and muzzy, he had to really think through what _had_ happened. There were some theories brewing, already. 

“And the shark was a seriously lucky find, dude. Kind sad, though, ‘cause she was endangered and pregnant out of season, and that stupid fisherman still went through with poaching her instead of letting her go. But! The shark had caught and eaten part of a juvenile of Mr. Grump’s species--I really need to give him a real name--and had a tracker. She’d run into a Kaiju a while back and got the hell out of there. This totally supports my theory about us being able to use animal behavior to accurately track them. Because the really great news is that she ran into the Kaiju before any of our systems found it, meaning we have more data for the dudes down in math. And! I even contacted the Mako Preservation Society, and they’re going to forward all of their tracking data to us. Even if we don’t run into any more close encounters like this one, I say there’s a really good chance that the sharks will be avoiding the greater area of the ocean that the Kaiju are coming through. They have really great senses, and the Kaiju _have_ to be causing disturbances in the environment.” 

“Newt, my friend, _breathe_.” But Tendo was grinning and punctuated the rest with a low whistle. “Awesome news, though. Even if we can narrow it down to a hundred miles or so, any kind of earlier warning would rock. Instead of scrambling when they get close enough to the coast for us to track, we could know far enough ahead to call in more Jaegers more quickly and from farther away! Think of the lives and infrastructure we could save.” 

Newt beamed back, basking in the praise and even feeling a little less tired. And people said K-Science would never really save anybody. Screw that. Knowledge was power, and every new thing they learned about the Kaiju got them closer to the epic beatdown that would come someday. 

Then he yelped, because Tendo had reached over to ruffle his hair. Affectionately, probably, but also to mess it up, so Newt followed that up with a squawked protest. Tendo’s laugh was cut short by a grimace, and he followed up by wiping his hand on Newt’s shirt. 

“I’m serious. I literally can’t take you anywhere right now. You’re a _mess_ , and not a hot one either. Looks like we’ll need to make a pit-stop at your room.” 

Wait. _Wait_. “Wait! Is this a dinner date?”

Tendo laughed. “You deserve it. And didn’t I say I’d take you out if you turned in the report on time? Besides, when was the last time you ate? And don’t you dare try to say coffee is a good substitute for the other major food groups.” 

“Aww, but coffee is the perfect food.” So much for answering...uh, three hours ago with his last cup. No wonder he was feeling so tired. Joking about coffee aside, though, that was a good question. Huh. Hunger was definitely actually almost winning against tired right now. “Uh... Um, donuts? I think it was the donuts.” 

“I thought so. That’s why we’re going out and eating until you can’t take another bite.” That was definitely a smirk. “And why we’re going dutch.” 

Newt almost said ‘screw food, sleep was better’ anyway, but Tendo looking out for him made him feel warm. But he didn’t dare say _that_ out loud when they weren’t talking about it yet, so he joked instead. “Oooh, kinky. I didn’t know you were into that, dude.”

“Now you’re deliberately being a dumbass. A man’s gotta look out for his friends.” Tendo was doing his best to hold back a smile, though; Newt could see it. 

So Newt took that as an invitation to continue teasing. “Oh, wait, wait, I’ve got it! All you had to do was ask if you wanted to be daddy.” 

“God, no. Don’t you _dare._ ” But Newt was pretty sure Tendo was aware he was just teasing--so not into that himself--and was that barely contained laughter he was hearing behind the words? 

And maybe what he said next was pushing things, but Newt had never been good at thinking before his mouth went off. “Okay, _Mom_.” 

He ended up stumbling the rest of the way in a headlock. On the other hand there was plenty of laughing in between Tendo loudly declaring him all kinds of horrible human being and wondering why they were even friends. Newt counted it a win. 

But when Newt tried to go for another kiss once they were in his room, Tendo pushed him away. He felt a note of panic, but Tendo’s words smothered it fast. “Ew, no. Raw fish stink is super unsexy. And I know you haven’t showered since yesterday.” 

“Dude, I didn’t even leave the lab once after my shopping trip.” 

“ _Exactly_.” 

He didn’t think it would be a go, but why not ask? “Wanna join me?” 

“I’m not a prime example of the unwashed masses.” Tendo was making a face at his shirt, though, where Newt’s head had been jammed against it. “But I’ll change this shirt, just in case, since I saw a spare in your closet. Still warms my heart that you take such good care of them.” 

Newt just had to watch while Tendo shimmied out of his shirt and, damn. Naked from the waist up except for his bow-tie, rosary, and tattoo? That was going to be _prime_ fantasy material from now on. 

“Just for the record, someday you really need to leave your bow-tie on. But maybe not one you’re attached to, just in case it gets messy.” 

“You’re not showering!” But Tendo was fingering his bow-tie with a thoughtful look. Score!

“I’m going! I’m going!” And he so was. A shower suddenly sounded great, actually, maybe with a few moments to savor the image. But just a couple, because he was so saving himself for later. The hell with re-bandaging his cuts though. Even the aspirin hadn’t helped the burning, and Newt didn’t want to look. He still had some plastic wrap in here from... he didn’t remember, but that and some tape should do the trick. Not that the bandages hadn’t gotten wet a few times already, but whatever.

The shower did feel amazing, and so maybe Tendo hadn’t been exaggerating about the fish smell. At least, showering made him realize how grimy and sweaty he’d been. But Newt didn’t dawdle like he wanted to, because he had a date, and not even imaging Tendo in just his tie and nothing else could hold him back. It was so exciting he felt almost like he was vibrating. Usually, they just did hookups--not that those weren’t awesome--and Newt really missed dates with someone who knew his quirks well enough to not rage-quit--or disgust-quit--in the middle. So maybe people had never really been something Newt was good at. He’d never let it stop him before! 

There was just that tired feeling holding him back from actually grooving in excitement. That feeling was currently arguing that claiming Tendo as a living body-pillow would be way better than a date, or even sex. Maybe it was time for more coffee. No, it definitely was if his body was trying to choose sleep over sex. 

Tendo actually ix-nayed another cup, which was a surprise, but also probably why Newt ended up leaning against Tendo sleepily most of the way to wherever they were going. But Tendo didn’t protest and eventually just pulled him up out of the seat, slung an arm around his shoulders, and added an eye-roll for good measure as they headed back out to the street, now way more inland than they had been. There were more people and businesses sticking it out here than where the Shatterdome had been built. It felt weird to see the streets actually approaching something Newt would call crowded, and even weirder to know that this could only be a fraction of the level of crowded LA used to be at best.

Tendo knew exactly where they were going, and steered Newt without fail. They ended up at a little diner that oozed “traditional” Americana and boasted homemade pies. Said pies probably hadn’t been actually homemade since the nineties, but it was cute. There was a classic rock soundtrack playing quietly from the speakers inside and even the staff was sporting a kind of neo-retro look. And totally working it. 

Newt looked up. Tendo was grinning down at him in a way that said he knew exactly what Newt was thinking. He said it anyway. “This place is _awesome._ ”

“Just the place for a couple of rad guys like us, right?”

“Your stone-age slang is awful.” 

“You love me for it. Also, says the guy who uses dude with complete sincerity.” 

“Correction. In spite of it. And dude is a classic!” 

The hostess chose that time to start giggling and asked if they wanted a booth. Hell yes, that sounded great, and Tendo only complained a little when Newt stayed plastered to his side instead of sitting on the other side like a normal person. Who wanted to be normal when Tendo was so warm and comfy? 

Tendo had to poke him out of a doze to order, and then again when their food came, but it was worth the wait. The smell really woke him up fully, along with his appetite. Okay, yeah, he was kind of starving. And Newt definitely wasn’t regretting ordering that side of Mac’N’Cheese. It had _bacon_ in it, and he was pretty sure it was real, honest to god, bacon too instead of that freeze-dried crap.

Dinner passed in a happy, delicious blur. Tendo made faces at Newt’s choices, but they shared anyway. Well, stealing liberally off each other’s plates counted as sharing, right? 

And Tendo hadn’t been kidding about stuffing him until he couldn’t eat anymore, because when the pie arrived--and maybe it really _was_ homemade--Newt only managed a couple of delicious bites before he had to admit defeat and let Tendo finish the rest. 

They went dutch, of course, and Newt was fine with it, except for the part where he was actually kind of inwardly wincing at the state of his credit account. He’d been kind of liberal with his spending lately, even before the shark. 

The waiter came back to hand them their receipts, and apparently finally decided to speak up about the sly, amused looks he’d been tossing their way since Newt was awake enough to notice. “Thank you for dining with us, gentlemen. And if you don’t mind me saying, you should take your cute boyfriend straight home and tuck him right into bed. I haven’t seen anybody so tired since end-of-semester hell-week in college.”

That comment made Newt feel nice and not-so-nice at the same time, which was a really confusing feeling. On one hand, a nice looking guy thought he was cute, and thought they were boyfriends. On the other, they’d been mistaken for boyfriends. Tendo was great, but just a friend. A friend with some absolutely mind-blowing benefits, definitely, but they so weren’t going steady, declarations of love, ‘let’s get married someday’ material. 

While Newt had been mulling that over, Tendo laughed, and not-so-subtly looked the guy over. “That’s the plan.”

And then he ruffled Newt’s hair for the second time in as many hours, and Newt was going to protest--in front of a nice-looking-guy, damn it, what about his dignity?-- but those excellent fingers of Tendo’s felt so good digging gently into his scalp that he accidentally hummed in pleasure instead. 

So he had to think of something to reclaim his badass level. Wait! That was the ticket. “Pfft. Hell-week was usually not so bad. Except that one year with two thesis defenses on the same day. That was a killer. Besides! This time was only--” Huh, how long? “--Uh, forty-some hours. I’ve gone way longer. Just usually with more coffee and more regular dosages of said coffee.” 

The waiter looked suitably impressed. Or perturbed, it was hard to say. Tendo, on the other hand, executed a perfect face-palm. 

His voice was a little muffled under his hand when he spoke. “Newt, damn it, you shouldn’t stay up that long when you don’t _have_ to. Even with LOCCENT running all-hands-code-red during an attack, I’ve never had to pull more than thirty before getting spelled for some sleep.” 

Newt pouted. Tendo knew what he did and why he did it. “Hey, I work long hours between attacks so we can take the next one down that much quicker!” 

Tendo’s crackling thunderhead expression in return said he wasn’t buying it. Shit. Damage control! “And this time I might have, kind of, forgotten that the Marshall wanted my report today and not tomorrow. A little.”

And now, cute waiter had just lit up like he’d gotten Christmas early. “You two are PPDC?” 

Aw yeah, badassary reclaimed. “Yeah! Totally!” 

But Tendo cut in, looking dubious at the expression. Newt guessed he had a right to; usually only pilots got expressions like that. “Not pilots, though, before we get any wires crossed.” 

“It takes way more than just the pilots to keep the Jaegers saving the world,” Newt added. 

And look at that, cute waiter guy didn’t seem one bit less enthused. “Vital cogs in the great machine? I completely get it. So what do you guys do?” 

“I’m a J-Tech.” Tendo extended his hand for a shake. “Stationed in LOCCENT, as you heard. We monitor Jaeger systems, the pilots and their drifts, track Kaiju, and manage all communication between the different Shatterdomes and teams.” 

Newt made sure to give his best enthusiastic shake. Nice hands! “I’m in K-Science. Learning more about the Kaiju daily so we can kick their asses with it later.” 

Waiter guy actually clutched his retro serving tray to his chest, and he was showing off the most adorable smile. “Wow. It’s really cool to get to meet the people who do all the hard, thankless work and make such sacrifices for the rest of us.” 

Now, wait, K-Science was kind of unrecognized--unlike the J-Techs--but sacrifices? “What’s a sacrifice about our work? I mean, do you make any sacrifices, Tendo? I know I don’t! I get to study the most amazing creatures that have ever appeared on this planet.” 

Tendo elbowed him hard in the ribs. “And terrible, of course! In that Lovecraftian way. But we’ll work our asses off and we’ll all make it through to the very end. And I’ll march right up to the last Kaiju and look them right in the eyes--well, technically probably eye singular because they’re so _huge_ \--and say: Here I am, you beautiful destructive bastard. I’ve tackled everything you’ve thrown at me; I’ve fucking conquered you. My mind is better than yours. I’ve learned all your secrets and you have no power over me!” 

Tendo had at some point smacked his forehead on the table, and groaned. “Newt, this is why I don’t take you out in public. And that movie was _awful_.” 

Oh shit. Waiter didn’t look too impressed anymore, and wow, that was frustrating as hell. Why didn’t people _get it_? “How are people going to _learn_ if nobody hits them with the knowledge they don’t _want_? We can’t keep just wailing on them. Jaegers work now because of what we’ve learned about them, but each Kaiju is getting better, bigger, hitting harder. I swear, the next person who tells me ‘all we need are bigger bombs’ and I will just-- No! We have to learn _everything_ because exploiting their weaknesses is going to be the only way, and yeah, they _are_ awesome. Complex and so perfectly put together that it _hurts_ to look at. Everything about them is like a weapon, even the smallest cells! They’re like the super end-level bosses in games. And it figures reality would so set the bar at Atlus Hard for us, but that’s part of the _challenge_. And--”

Fingers found his wrist under the table, and he could feel the slight, hard pressure of rosary beads through his sleeve. His voice stuttered and the frustration eased, but only a little. 

Newt wasn’t _done_ , though, but maybe he’d been a little loud. “And, it’s a challenge we’re going to win, dude, because we work together, and we’re _not_ stupid. Okay, some people are really stupid, but mankind _isn’t_. Look what we’ve done with the PPDC! And there’s enough smart people at the top that realize they need me and people like me. They get that we need to know our enemy to win. So yeah, I study Kaiju, but it’s not a sacrifice. Maybe a lot underestimated and not understood, but I’m fighting to save lives. Civilians, PPDC staff and the pilots and Jaegers, the animals that live in the ecosystems the Kaiju are wrecking... And yeah, maybe even the Kaiju too, someday, when we know what’s making them do this and how to make them stop attacking the coast without killing them. Or we figure out how to send them back where they’re coming from and keep them from ever coming back! That’s probably more likely. And...”

Yeah. So. Derailing was what his thoughts had been doing and those last few sentences had come out with more effort than they probably should have. It was hard to be mad with Tendo’s fingers working into his palm and wrist, tracing veins and gently rubbing over muscle and tendons. Suddenly he was feeling tired and without energy again, and it was like being hit by a truck. 

Tendo waited a moment or two, and his expression was mostly still annoyed, but there was something in his voice that Newt only heard once in a while, when Tendo was really proud and hopped up on afterglow hormones. “And that’s why I keep you around. Trying to save the whole damn world, even if you can’t keep from pissing off the people you’re trying to save.” 

Newt risked a glance at cute waiter guy, who still looked significantly less enthused, but at least not completely pissed off. Progress over the last time he’d decided to expound on Kaiju at people. No black eyes forthcoming today, hell yeah. 

...He really needed to learn _not_ piss people off. It was just so...ugh. Why couldn’t people understand? 

“I really blew this one, huh?” 

“He didn’t punch you out; that’s progress!” Of course, Tendo would bring that up in front of cute and now very inaccessible waiter guy. “On the other hand he might still be reeling from your awful, mangled attempt to quote a ridiculous eighties film. How do you _even_ , I don’t even know.”

“Hey! It wasn’t supposed to be a direct quote; it was a homage. And really, dude. Two words for you. David Bowie. Tights.” What better reason to watch a movie? Well, his voice counted too, because damn, that man was an impressive musician and singer.

Tendo rolled his eyes. “That was three words. And you call yourself a scientist.” 

“Proper names so only count as a single word. It wouldn’t have been clear, otherwise.” Newt pouted, but mostly for effect. 

He let himself be nudged out of the booth, and wrapped himself around Tendo’s arm in revenge, and maybe also to keep the nice feeling of Tendo’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. Tendo gave a little wave at kind of awkwardly dumbstruck waiter guy with his free hand and started ushering them out. 

“Back to helping save the world for us. See you around, Ed. And to answer your question from before, it’s not a sacrifice for me either. Not a thing I’d rather be doing, or anywhere I’d rather be.” But the way he said that, squeezing Newt’s hand and glancing down, gave Newt a firework rush of butterflies in his stomach. ‘And no friend I’d rather be spending time with,’ was there, under the surface, just for Newt alone. 

Because Tendo got _Newt_ , and even when Tendo was mad, or frustrated, or embarrassed to be in the same room as him, which Newt was _trying_ to make happen less, Tendo knew the nitty gritty details under and behind everything. And Newt was glad they’d been forced to room together during the mandatory training period even a scientist like him had to go through, both of them being the odd man out in their respective departments and not enough room for them not to share.

Even if Tendo had nearly punched him out that first night. Actually, he was glad for that too, because it had made him stop, made him really _listen_ to the words and the hurt, and made him realize that he needed to apologize. Newt never tried to be a jerk to people, even if, as Tendo so often reminded him, he often was in spite of himself. 

And his split lip and busted nose had hurt so much that trying to explain with words had been agony, so in the end he’d just shown Tendo the secret about his tattoos. They were a record of the Kaiju, a reminder of what he was fighting _for_ , and what he was fighting _against_. And yes, wearing the faces of his enemies made him feel tough and cool, and like a rockstar or maybe some kind of modern berserker, but it was so much more than just that. He’d wanted to make the tattoo out of every name, every life lost, but that had also resulted in a screaming match with his parents when he’d let it slip, so he’d settled for with the words in memory followed by monuments, places, and the death toll, worked into the lines and shading. He’d separated it out by manner: drowned, crushed, Blue poisoning, and those who died fighting Trespasser.

Then Tendo had seen it, had looked and _stopped_ , and started listening too, and Newt had tried to explain, in fits and starts. It had come out in unconnected pieces and Tendo probably hadn’t really understood, at first, but once they both had started really listening, talking got easier.

Tendo didn’t hit him again after that, even if a couple of the pilot hopefuls had, and somehow, even when there were extra rooms finally available, they hadn’t been moved--Newt definitely hadn’t asked--so... it had been good. They’d even both got transferred to LA together to man the new Shatterdome, and now here they were.

“You sleepwalking, or just lost in your head again?” Tendo’s voice jerked Newt from the reverie. 

Newt blinked into focus, seeing the station looming close. It would probably be deserted on the way back; the line was only really kept running for PPDC staff and visitors. “Just thinking about how we met. I’m... glad.” 

Well that was awkward, and Tendo tensed a little. “You were such a little shit, my friend. But I’m glad too.” 

The last was barely heard, but warm and soft. Good. Good, they were still good. “I’m a work in progress!” 

They were getting too close to the heavy shit Newt was still pretty sure they were avoiding, so Newt fished for a topic that would be a distraction while they boarded and sat down. “How was the date?” 

Tendo sighed. “It wasn’t. She came right out and said it instead of waiting until the end at least, but she’d done some thinking and decided a poly relationship wasn’t for her. Friends might still happen, but dating is definitely a no-go.” 

Poor Tendo; she’d sounded so perfect. “That sucks, man. But I know you’ll find your dream-girl someday!”

“If you say anything along the lines of ‘plenty of fish’ I swear I’ll smack you.” 

“Fine. I won’t say it.” 

“You were thinking it, you douche.” 

“Well, it’s _technically_ true. Do you have any idea how many species of fish there are in the Pacific alone? And that’s just the ones we know about.” Newt did his absolute best to hold a straight face, but he was almost positive he was failing. 

Tendo’s expression was priceless, and then he started laughing. That was good. That was great. Too bad about the girl, but Tendo was a damn fine catch; Newt was _sure_ he’d find his dream-girl someday. Tendo shoved at his shoulder and Newt let himself flop into Tendo’s lap in retaliation. Tendo answered that by threatening to shove him on the floor, but fingers corded into Newt’s hair, and oh, that felt nice-- 

Newt woke up to the smell of salt and a jerk of an improperly braked stop. Tendo grinned down at him. “Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep, but this is our stop.” 

Newt couldn’t hold back the yawn and winced as his jaw cracked and while he was tempted to wrap himself around Tendo’s arm again, this entrance to the Shatterdome would take them past some of the areas that the pilots and pilot hopefuls frequented, and while most of them were cool, most of the time, some were utter bastards. 

“How long was I out?”

“The whole trip. If I ever need to make you go to sleep again, I now know exactly how.” That was a smirk that promised future teasing, and/or blackmail. It probably shouldn’t have made Newt want to grin back, considering. 

But he was curious. “And how’s that?” 

“Scratching behind your ears.” Tendo was a bastard sometimes too, and Newt knew what was coming next. “Like a puppy.” 

“Dude, if I’m any kind of pet, I’d be, like--” Wow, he must be tired to let such an obvious opening slip.

Tendo wasn’t going to let that one slide, and his ribs got a gentle nudge. “Like, what?” 

“A corvid, totally! The research on their problem solving and intelligence is completely mindblowing. Corvids are awesome.” And at least it wasn’t going to get him called puppy for days. 

“What, no monkey?” 

“Yeah, right. Monkeys are so overrated in the scheme of things. And they can’t fly.” Almost as one, and how many people who weren’t pilots could claim that, they turned down the hallways towards Newt’s room. Their last hookup had been in Tendo’s so it was only fair. Besides, Tendo had the start of his weekend tomorrow so he could afford to be away from his room and uniform tonight, since he was the one of them with more regular hours. As long as Newt’s work got done, nobody really cared about the schedule he kept from day to day or how many hours of ‘overtime’ he clocked. Or forgot to clock, whatever. Nobody was paid hourly anyway. 

Not that most of the PPDC paid strict attention to those regulations about work hours. Still, working on a ‘weekend day’ was choice, or emergency due to Kaiju attack and made up later. 

Suddenly Tendo wasn’t right beside him anymore though. Oh. Well, he _should_ actually check up on the grump. “Haha, whoops! I’m so used to going to the lab, but I should stop in and make sure the specimen is comfortable. Won’t take more than a minute!” 

Tendo grumbled under his breath the whole way, and Newt kept it to a trot to hurry. He didn’t think Tendo was actually annoyed, but it never hurt to be safe. 

The lab was quiet as expected, and the specimen was playing with his clams again. Newt wasn’t sure what he was doing, but it was good to see. He’d need to analyze his camera footage later to figure it out, but he thought there might be patterns to it. Maybe he’d see if there were other little toys or things he could get to keep grumpy from being bored. 

And grumpy was right up in the front of the tank almost as soon as Newt walked in, but then retreated and threw out some sounds Newt didn’t think indicated any kind of happy when Tendo came in behind him. 

“I don’t think he likes you, man. Stay back a bit? He got really scared with the Marshall earlier...” And Newt had a hunch, well, more than a hunch, why. He was never going to forgive that bastard for the... well, call it what it was, torture. What about the Marshall had reminded his specimen of it, he wasn’t sure yet. 

He went forward, right up to the tank, noting the food was now mostly eaten, and the specimen didn’t look too agitated or anything. Almost predictably, grumpy chattered at him and tried to splash him but this time Newt was ready, and dodged out of the way. 

“Ha! You got too predicta--”

And tripped over his own feet to sprawl on the floor. But at least he was dry. “Ow.”

Tendo was definitely laughing, and he could swear the specimen was too. “Oh shut up, both of you.” 

Like that would make either of them stop, but at least Tendo came over and helped him back to his feet. Newt batted his eyelashes. “Such a gentleman.” 

Tendo shoved him playfully and Newt shoved back and then stuck his tongue out. Maturity was overrated. 

And with a loud harangue, his specimen turned so his hindquarters were squarely facing them. At least it gave Newt a better look at the bioluminescent nubs along his back. Those were fascinating. But Newt also spied his specimen twisting his head just so, in a way that said he was still watching but trying to seem like he wasn’t. 

Or that would be how Newt would interpret that in a human. Maybe it was a coincidence. 

“Geez, you disapprove of everything.” Newt approached the tank again, talking as he went. “You know what, you remind me of one of my teachers when I was a kid. He was the most incredible hardass, and never smiled. Always ‘Newton, don’t do that’ or ‘Newton, you’re not applying yourself.’” 

Thinking of the old man, probably well into his eighties by now, made him feel nostalgic. Mr. Albrecht had been kind of grumpy and a stickler for rules, but he knew his stuff, and knew how to make Newt _work_. He’d made learning a challenge again, and hadn’t let Newt get away with a single thing, not once. He’d missed the teacher horribly when his parents had moved away to the States. Still did, if he was being honest. 

“But he was a good teacher, man. And grump and lecture all you want, I know you like me just like he did.” 

Newt realized he suddenly knew exactly what to name his specimen and grinned at both him and Tendo. Yes, it was perfect. 

“It’s settled! You just scream Hermann to me, Hermann. Doesn’t he look like a Hermann to you, Tendo?” 

Tendo just shrugged and rolled his eyes, and Hermann, well, Hermann curled up on himself in the back of the tank in the most obvious go away gesture Newt had ever seen. At least, he thought that’s what it was. 

Hmph, everybody was a critic. But it felt good to finally have a name for Hermann, and it was perfect. On the other hand, Hermann probably needed his rest too, and he obviously wasn’t happy with Newt right now, so Newt gestured Tendo out of the lab and locked back up. 

But not before giving into the urge to whisper, “Good night, Hermann.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for nothing. Not even the Labyrinth reference. This is also only technically half of this part, but it was a really good stopping point and the second half is getting longer than expected, so why not cut it and give you all something to read while I finish writing ~~the sex scene~~ the rest of Newt and Tendo's awesome date night?


	7. Date Night Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The subtitle to this chapter could be "Roughly 12000 words of Tendo and Newt trying and failing to actually complete a sexual encounter." 
> 
> Now that we're starting to delve into the details of Tendo and Newt's relationship, yes it isn't healthy, and they are both aware of this (and attempting to improve it). This may or may not be bad enough to require its own warning, so mentioning it here just in case. I probably should have mentioned it last half of this chapter. Apologies for forgetting and I will be retroactively editing it in now for new readers.
> 
> The definite warnings are depression, suicidal ideation, and mention of assisted suicide. Along with more mention of experimentation and torture, and needle use (for drawing blood, but not in a medical setting, so just in case).

**Day 3, Newt**

The moment the door locked behind them, Newt pulled Tendo down into a kiss. Oh yeah, he’d been waiting for this _all_ day, and the anticipation had built to explosive levels. That, and he was slightly worried that if they didn’t get the ball well and truly rolling, he’d fall asleep in the middle and be passed out all night long. As much as his body probably--definitely--needed sleep, it would suck epically if he couldn’t get them both nicely laid, especially since Tendo’s date had imploded on him. So Newt put himself to fighting the exhaustion and focused on how Tendo tasted faintly tart-sweet from the pie. Delicious, and Newt dove deeper into the kiss for more. 

Tendo was kissing back, and Newt could feel his mouth curved into a smile, but after a minute of letting Newt drive, he pressed his hands gently against Newt’s jaw, pushing back and effectively putting on the breaks. Hot, sexy and maybe a little--okay, a lot-- urgent was suddenly turned soft and languid. Tendo hummed in a self-satisfied way and started tracing Newt’s lips with his tongue. The tease. 

Newt whined in complaint while his brain tried to remember how to make his mouth do words. Not forthcoming quick enough, so he slid his hands up and put pressure on Tendo’s shoulders, in hopes of encouraging a return to the previous hot and sexy pace. And maybe because it was so sexy to feel how Tendo’s muscles flexed over bone, even with a shirt in the way. On the upside, even with the slow-down, sex now plz was gaining on sleep now plz. Success! 

There was no budging on the pace from his friend, just another hum and a ticklish kiss placed against the corner of his mouth. And as Tendo swiped the fingers of one hand gently down his neck, Newt felt a rush of a wonderful tingly feeling blooming along his skin, in prefect sync with the soft kiss. This wasn’t bad at all, just, what if he fell asleep?

Tendo’s voice tickled too, soft and more felt than heard. “No rush. We’ve got all night long.” 

And again, great in theory, but they didn’t if Newt passed out from exhaustion, and that was still unfortunately way too likely, because a big part of him just wanted to curl up against Tendo and zonk out. He was feeling very good from the soft touches, but his usual impatience was also rearing its head. So Newt struggled actual words back into his working vocabulary in an attempt to pick up the pace. “I’ve been thinking about blowing you since _yesterday_. I want you so bad right now.” 

Ha. Take that sex and exhaustion. Newt’s higher functions one, incoherence zero.

But Tendo just huffed a little groan against his jaw, apparently unconvinced of the greatness of Newt’s sex right this damn second plan. “You are so impatient. I want you too, my man, but I want to take you slow. Savor every little moment.” 

The last three words were punctuated by a nip to his earlobe, another just below his jaw, and a sucking kiss to his pulse point. That last one hurt a little more than usual, because his neck was already bruised up thanks to Hermann, but the slow, deliberate attention was making Newt feel especially warm and melty inside. Maybe there was something to this going slow deal. It was something new for them, no doubt about that, but Tendo _would_ try this out tonight of all nights. Newt rocked his hips against Tendo and tried one more time. 

“Your fault if you get blue balled because I fell asleep on you!”

“Then we have lazy, good-morning sex instead. Win-win.” Tendo was so smirking against his throat, and worked his hips back in a slow movement that rippled upwards from the muscles in his thighs and traveled in a slow wave up through his spine. It gave Newt the perfect, intimate touch-portrait of Tendo’s stomach and chest pressed against him. 

Hot. Newt sighed, giving in and letting it happen. He was feeling floaty, almost, and definitely with a side of hot and breathless. God damn, Tendo was a sexy, sexy man. A sexy man that he needed his hands on, even if it happened like molasses in January. So Newt let his hands drop and plucked at Tendo’s shirt until it came free from his pants. 

His voice had dropped husky, instead of scaling up like it usually did. Huh. “Clothes off, please? You know I love to feel how you move under your skin.” 

The laugh in response was light and airy, but Tendo obligingly shrugged out of his suspenders, still planting soft kisses over Newt’s neck. “Your kinks, man, are the most unique.” 

“You love--” Newt arched for him, pulling at buttons blindly. “--my kinks.” 

“I do. So easy to set off--” Tendo didn’t finish that, and swept his hands down over Newt’s sides, then back up. The buttons were obeying Tendo and popping free for him so much easier than Newt was managing. Magic button-commanding jerk anyway. 

It probably didn’t help that Newt was nearly quivering. Sensory overload incoming, fuck yes. Skin against skin. That awesome feeling of muscle and tendon sliding in concert with each other under skin. The softness of fat deposits. The firmness of bone. The way everything came together and moved so perfect and smooth. Bodies were so fucking awesome and sexy. And Tendo had a _mind blowing_ one. 

Then _finally_ shirts and ties were off, and Newt hummed, planting kisses along Tendo’s clavicles. They were so nicely defined, and the hollow between them a great place to suck on. Tendo ground out a curse and Newt moaned at the vibration against his lips. He felt Tendo dip his head and then hot breath heaving against his ear and ruffling his hair. Hell yeah, Tendo was getting worked up and that made his own pleasure flare hotter. Then something wet--

Newt squawked in surprise and took a step back. Then he belatedly realized what had just happened and tried for a glare, rubbing the spit out of his ear. Bastard. 

Tendo just laughed again and used the sudden distance between them to shuck his pants and shoes, leaving him only in a pair of comfy boxer-briefs cradling a lovely cock, and his socks. “Going to join me?”

Right! Disrobing! Newt scrambled out of his own pants and then decided screw going slow with undressing, he was going to get naked. He kept going until he was completely bare and Tendo made no moves to stop him.

In fact, Tendo’s gaze was roving over him and it felt almost like a physical caress. That made more blood rush to his cock. Whoa, going slow was definitely new in a lot of ways. Usually by now they had been grinding against each other so earnestly that they were both hard as rocks and leaking, but tonight Newt was only half-hard, and the thought of Tendo watching him harden the rest of the way was a surprise turn on. Newt squirmed, feeling flushed right down to his toes. 

Tendo’s voice had dropped to a low rasp. “You like that, don’t you? Me watching you get hard; paying attention to every second of the process.” 

Newt almost shook, because hearing those words set his whole nervous system alight. He had to press his hands against his skin to make sure he wasn’t burning holes through it with the force of his want. “God. _Yes!_ ”

Not that he needed to say it. There was no way Tendo couldn’t see it, hear it, all over him. There was a shake in Tendo’s voice. “Remind me before we start sometime, and we’ll do it, my man. I’ll monitor all your vitals like you’re one of my pilots in the drift.” 

Newt probably would have moaned at the words but Tendo had stepped forward while he was saying that and stole Newt’s breath with a deep kiss. Tendo’s hands pressed into his skin, pulling them both close, and suddenly Newt could feel every breath of Tendo’s in the quick expansion and contraction of ribs and muscle. There was soft cotton against his cock, and he could feel the whole outline of Tendo’s pressing nice and snug right above his pubis. He babbled wordless appreciation into the kiss, and was cut off when Tendo took it even deeper. Newt just accepted the welcome thrust of Tendo’s tongue, loving the pressure against his own and the tickle against his soft palate as his mouth was thoroughly fucked.

They were moving and even though Newt knew in a way that seemed distant and disconnected that his back had been towards the bed, Newt ended up on top of Tendo. He was straddling Tendo’s thighs--so firm and wonderful flexing between his--but wasted no time scooting up to grind down and rut their cocks together. 

Tendo was flushed, mouth wet and pulled into a softly curved smile, beneath him. His breath hitched with Newt’s movements and he laughed as his eyes fluttered shut and his hips jerked up just a little. The rise of his larynx bobbed as he swallowed, throwing shadows over his throat in the soft light. It was a truly perfect neck, Newt thought suddenly, well, almost. It needed a few more hickies and Newt could so fix that right away.

Then Tendo interrupted that train of thought by grabbing Newt’s hips, almost bruising, and stopping the motions. That earned a gasping whine of complaint from Newt and Tendo just hummed in response as he pulled Newt down. “Slowly. Take your time.” 

Newt was tempted to just ignore that, but one of Tendo’s hands stayed firm on his hip, and with his weight pressing down on his friend, Newt could feel every breath and muscle twitch. The kiss helped too, clearing his mind of anything else, and drawing his focus down into the flood of sensations from their points of contact. 

Tendo didn’t hold the kiss long. It broke right away into a scattering of light, gentle kisses dancing over Newt’s skin. The tip of his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, that sensitive spot just under his ear--

Newt decided to return them, and Tendo’s kisses trailed down his throat in response, following the carotid artery beneath Newt’s skin. 

His thoughts shuttered into a million lights and colors, one for each sensation, and Newt shifted to grab Tendo’s shoulders just for something to hold onto. His hips were twitching down erratically, and Newt felt a little bit like he was disintegrating in slow motion. It felt amazing. 

Tendo was murmuring soft words against is skin with the peppering of kisses, and most of them probably should have made sense, but the meaning was lost as Tendo’s hands trailed up Newt’s sides and down his back in a slow sweep. And in each spot that he’d worked a variation of “In memory” into his tattoos there was a pause and a press of fingers that made Newt’s heart jump in a strange way. It made his own kisses falter, and he decided to work on those hickies instead, feeling almost drunk on the taste of Tendo’s skin. 

Tendo groaned, vibration running along Newt’s sternum in an awesome way, and tipped his head back. A word escaped, then two, and those weren’t in English, Newt thought. Maybe. It was hard to concentrate on anything with Tendo’s hands sliding up into his hair.

The press and slide of Tendo’s fingers against his scalp made warmth cascade down his spine. Newt realized he’d lost track of the hicky and was just gasping against Tendo’s neck. He breathed out Tendo’s name, maybe to apologize, and Tendo answered with more words with meanings that didn’t manage to pierce the haze of soft, warm pleasure slowly swallowing him whole. Newt felt so _good_ and he really needed to tell...

Newt blinked awake, feeling warm and really good, except for a couple sore spots, like he’d been sleeping-- Huh. He _had_ been sleeping, sprawled out on his stomach with his legs still tucked up under him. That explained the crick in his neck and the faint stiffness in his hips and knees. The warmth cradling him resolved slowly into Tendo, who had an arm slung over his back, and was breathing slow and deep beneath him. He was all but straddling Tendo still, though he’d slid to the side a bit. He’d... fallen sleep during that amazing foreplay, hadn’t he?” 

“Aw, shit.” 

Tendo jerked and snorted, then his arm tightened around Newt and he arched up in a stretch of his shoulders and back. “Morning, sleeping beauty.” 

Newt’s cock was _definitely_ interested in the syrupy warmth of Tendo’s voice, and also the way his skin felt, but that second one was a given. But, he’d almost certainly given Tendo blue balls last-- uh, whenever. “Damn. I’m sorry, dude. I fell--”

The laugh Newt got in return was either a bad thing or a very good thing. Tendo didn’t _seem_ upset, at least. “No worries, my friend. I was half planning on that, anyway. We’ve got a few hours left before the day starts. More, if we count to when you tend to start your workdays.” 

“You planned--” That just wasn’t on. Newt was ready to work himself up into an indignant tirade, just gearing himself up out of the sleepy haze--

And Tendo kissed him, a short, quick peck. “You give the awkwardest blow jobs when you’re exhausted, man. And I’m selfish; I want your best.”

Newt didn’t quite believe that, but he didn’t want to think too hard about the real reason. So he wasn’t going to bring up how not believable that was. Not even a little. Okay, maybe a little--

He was kissed again very briefly, and Tendo’s voice had dropped to that rasp he remembered so clearly from last night. “And I still want to go slow with you. I want you wide awake so I can watch you fall apart.” 

Okay, yeah. Going slow had way more appeal now that he didn’t feel ‘hit by a tranquilizer’ tired. Newt even felt kind of alert, and just remembering how good it had felt sent little shudders right down his spine. “Definitely open to that idea, man. Last night... Whoa. All I can say.” 

That made Tendo shake his head, making his hair fall in his eyes. Newt loved when it wasn’t impeccably styled. “Figures you wouldn’t know how to put the brakes on to save your life. Slow is breakfast, and maybe a quickie after for dessert. But, after I piss. Up with you.” 

“Awww.” But Newt was suddenly feeling aware that Tendo had the right idea. Funny how having it mentioned made it so much more pressing. “But that’s a good idea. To the bathroom!” 

“Really? _Really_?” Tendo looked like he was trying to pull a face, but couldn’t decide which one. “Are you seriously suggesting that?”

“What? It’ll save time! And I promise not to cross the streams.” Yeah, like he could have skipped making that joke in a million years. 

It got a snort, which was an improvement over the last time he’d made a Ghostbusters joke. “You dork. Fine, but only because my bladder isn’t going to wait for me to argue. Off. I can’t move if you don’t-- shit.” 

Tendo gripped his thigh, wincing. Oh, man, it must have gone to sleep with Newt’s weight on it all night. He so had to apologize for that, and the best way to apologize for pins and needles was to massage them away.

A hiss greeted his first touch, but Newt so knew what he was doing. Soon Tendo was relaxing, and was that a tiny moan? 

“Fringe benefit of having a biologist fuckbuddy. Just a little--Oh yeah.” Tendo was so getting into it now, hips rolling and cock starting to fill out in his underwear in a way that would make his bladder hate him later. 

Newt grinned and planted a kiss just above the cuff of Tendo’s sock as he worked his hands into the biceps femoris and got another low moan. He could feel Tendo’s heel flex and dig into his shoulder while his friend worked on getting feeling back into his leg, and oh that was nice. Just a little more--

But if he kept at it, he’d be well on his way to hard, so Tendo was just going to have to suck up the rest. He’d thank Newt later. And, Newt still had to get revenge for the ear thing last night, so he blew a wet raspberry into Tendo’s calf, laughing at the yelp it got. 

“We’d better get the bathroom show on the road while we still can. I want breakfast.” Newt made sure to waggle his eyebrows suggestively.

Tendo smacked him for it, but rolled up, gingerly putting weight on his recently asleep leg. When he didn’t topple over, he started making his way to the bathroom and Newt followed, making sure to grab his glasses so he wouldn’t do something gross, like mis-aim. Why not, seriously? It would save time, and the sooner he got his hands back on Tendo’s skin, the better. 

Tendo just rolled his eyes and they held to a manly code of silence while getting themselves a much needed reprieve from biological necessities, at least until Newt flicked the water off onto Tendo after washing his hands, instead of using the towel. 

“What was that for?” Tendo was on him in an instant, getting revenge by putting cold, wet hands on his ass. 

Which actually felt really nice, cool shock of the first touch aside, so Newt hummed approval and plastered himself against Tendo. He nipped against the outline of Tendo’s pectorals, and quite happily let Tendo walk him backwards, until his thighs hit the sink. Shit, cold! Newt smacked Tendo’s shoulder in complaint.

Then Tendo handed him his toothbrush. Fine, fine, morning breath _wasn’t_ the best thing in the world. And the minty taste and tingle of toothpaste made kissing interesting. Tendo had borrowed his spare--which, in all honesty was Tendo’s toothbrush away from home--and was doing the same. Mmm, definitely some minty kisses to look forward to. Newt didn’t hurry though, knowing the complaint he’d get, but the moment they were rinsed, he pressed himself right back where he had been. But this time, pulling Tendo down into a full on kiss that felt wonderfully cool and tingly. Tendo kissed back, hands finding their former position and this time walked them towards the bed. Newt allowed it all too happily, luxuriating in every press of Tendo’s fingers as they reacquainted themselves with his ass.

Newt was not at all surprised to end up the one straddled this time, and smiled up at Tendo, knowing his pupils had blown wide with attraction. It was hard as hell to resist the urge to pull Tendo down and rut up against him, but they were doing this slow, and this time Newt was completely on board with the idea. He already felt warm and there was an exquisite thrumming under his skin at the grin Tendo gave him in return. 

So instead of instinct number one, Newt lifted his hands and traced them along Tendo’s ribs, making sure to trail the pads of his fingers along the full curve of every one. Which wasn’t as easy as it sounded, because Tendo wasn’t a skinny fuck. No, he was very nicely filled out, with just that hint of softness to mark him as a fit man but not some kind of super toned soldier or muscle-bound athlete. Just the way Newt loved him.

Tendo sucked in a breath and let it out in a shaky sigh, but his expression was beatific. His eyes were shuttered half-closed, and his mouth caught in a soft smile, with lips damply parted so he could pant out his quickening breaths. Perfect.

And his voice came out rough and hitched with a chuckle. “A little firmer, my man, or we’ll end up--” Another hitch, “--with a tickle fight.” 

The part of Newt that loved tickling, with the way it felt for him and always reduced Tendo to a wriggling mass of helpless laughter, was all for it. The rest of him thought that part was crazy, because _sex_. So he smoothed his palms over Tendo’s skin instead, feeling the twitch of Tendo’s muscles responding to his firmer pressure. Stomach, sides, back... Tendo had such nicely defined shoulders--

“That’s it, handsome.” Tendo purred that out, full of approval, and pressed into the paths of his hands. “You know how to touch me just right.” 

Then he lowered himself down so that they were almost touching--were touching in brief, exhilarating shivers with each breath they took--and hummed out another wordless approval. Newt continued stroking over Tendo’s shoulders, loving every moment and mentally naming every structure that made the touching so good. 

It was great, but it got even better as Tendo’s lips and tongue started trailing over his clavicles. Newt tipped his head back, wishing half of his neck wasn’t all bandaged up. He ached to feel Tendo’s mouth, with the damp heat, and the tugging soreness of new hickies. Newt couldn’t complain too much though, feeling warm and humming with energy all through his body. So he rubbed his cheek against Tendo’s hair, loving the smell of Tendo’s gel of choice and the smooth feel of the strands trailing against his damp skin. 

Tendo huffed happily into the hollow of his throat and pressed down finally, slotting their hips together in a fluid roll. The pressure of his weight and length of his cock made Newt buck, and Tendo jerked down more in response. So awesome, but something was-- Hm. So hard to think. 

There was a stutter or three as they got used to each other again, but Tendo quickly set a nice, slow rhythm with his hips and Newt managed to match it, grind for grind. There was no real need for words, but Newt just couldn’t keep quiet. Not that most of it was actual words, aside from Tendo’s name and some cursing, but quiet was something Newt could never claim, not without his mouth busy. And not even then, sometimes. Tendo answered all his noises though, with sighs and groans. They were making awesome music together.

After an eternity, or no time at all, Tendo stopped worshiping his clavicles and leaned up to kiss him. It cut off the harmony, and muffled Newt’s noises, so Newt got busier with the strokes of his hands over Tendo’s back to make up for it. It also changed the angle of their slow building grind and Tendo got to swallow the high, desperate sound Newt made as his pleasure hit a new high. 

For a second it was all minty flavor over warm tongue as they mapped each other out. Each time felt like the first time all over again, new and exciting, and Tendo was an amazing kisser. But like always, it could get better, and it did. Tendo’s hands had mostly been supporting his weight, but now he shifted so he could thread fingers through Newt’s hair along with the flow of the kiss. Oh fuck, this was like his new favorite feeling. 

Newt moaned and spread his thighs, wanting more of Tendo’s cock against his. It was so hard to get a good feel with-- That was it!

So he just had to break the kiss to complain. “No fair! You’re still dressed!” 

Sort of. Boxer-briefs when Newt was all naked totally counted as dressed. Tendo just snorted against his neck and peppered more kisses along his jaw.

He was obviously trying not to laugh. “Because I love it when you unwrap my package. You always look like it’s Christmas fucking morning.” 

Damn right it was like Christmas fucking morning. Emphasis on the fucking. And Newt suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Tendo’s cock bereft of his personal attentions a moment longer. So he turned the stroking into a push and pressed a panting kiss against Tendo’s shoulder. 

“Then get the condoms, dude. I want my present right now.” 

Tendo went with the push, jerking his hips down with a little more force. He was so obviously into the idea. The protest was token, at best. “What happened to going slow?” 

“Our cocks just took the wheel. And I can totally blow you nice and slow to make up for it.” And Newt meant the nipping kisses to punctuate his words, but the rhythm was so far off. It was the thought that counted, right? 

Tendo ground their cocks together in a hard, quick roll of his hips, looking like words had escaped him in the sea of incredibly turned on. But he sat up and twisted towards the bedside drawers. “Top... mn, top, right?”

Newt grinned at the slip from where he was sucking up another hicky, this time one directly over Tendo’s heart. It was hard to resist the opportunity to tease, even if his sex stuff was _always_ in that drawer and Tendo knew it. “Uh, maybe? Unless it’s in my dresser.” 

That got him smacked upside the head, but fingers immediately slipped right into his hair to soothe the spot and encourage Newt’s continuing attentions to Tendo’s chest. So worth it. And so was the rattle of the drawer opening. 

Tendo sounded so justifiably distracted as he muttered and from the sounds, rooted around in the drawer. “Better not, or you’re getting up to get them!” 

Another, louder, rattle. “Lube-- probably need that. Aha! --dammit, Newt, why are these finger condoms on top?”

“Finger cots and they’re _awesome!_ ” Newt would totally shake the hand of the dude who’d given them a sex-friendly update and then decided to market them to the masses. So much easier--in his opinion--than full gloves, tight enough to feel everything, and made cleanup after fingering himself a breeze. 

Tendo dropped the box on his head before turning his attention back to the drawer. “But they won’t fit my cock. If you’re out, I will so strangle you--what the hell, Newt?”

The rustling stopped suddenly and Newt looked up from the masterpiece he was adding to Tendo’s chest. Oh! His second favorite toy. He grinned. Tendo didn’t look so enthused, but on the other hand, he’d never known Richard’s tender affections. 

“Do I want to know _why_ you have a hyper-realistic dildo, complete with a hairy ball-sack?” Tendo made a face as said ball-sack swayed a little from transferred momentum. 

“Don’t talk about Richard like that! He’s fuzzy, not hairy.” Newt decided he needed to rescue his toy from Tendo’s clutches, and also that an explanation was needed so his friend could understand the true majesty that was Richard. 

“It’s even wired up so that you can heat it to human body temperature, for a perfect realistic experience. You can use the handle on the back to fuck yourself balls-deep, or take it off and hook the toy to a variety of different harness styles. Or even to something stationary so you can ride it.”

“You and your kinks, my man.” 

“I like the realism!” 

Tendo just tipped his face up and kissed him, slow and gentle, instead of deigning that with a response. Newt was glad, because he was pretty sure Tendo had long ago figured out Newt’s other reason--that bone deep, quaking _need_ for the touch of another person, for connection--and he so didn’t want to pick apart his own weirdness right now.

Then the kiss stopped and Newt whined at the loss. Tendo looked positively mystified. Or, well, that’s how Newt was going to choose to interpret that particular expression. 

“One I get, but why _two_?”

The obvious reason, and the kinkiest, was that Newt had a mouth and an asshole and sometimes it was really nice and intense to imagine being the center of attention of more than one person.

The other reason was very embarrassing, and in hindsight, probably kind of creepy and weird, and Newt wasn’t going to think about it even for a moment. Not at all. Even if he’d spent hours and hours pouring over the different models to find one that was _just_ the right size and texture in every way, or as close as he could get. And if he didn’t think about it, Tendo wouldn’t notice right? 

And then there was the joke. He probably should keep that to himself. Saying it would so ruin the mood. If his track-record with jokes was any indication it wasn’t even worth saying. He really should pass. 

...He was so going to use the joke. Newt cleared his throat and started humming the familiar jingle. “Sometimes you feel like it cut!” 

He trailed his fingers over the toy Tendo was still dubiously holding.

“And sometimes you don’t!” 

Tendo made a strangled sound and managed to mostly look completely horrified, but the corner of his mouth kept twitching up. “Newt, _why_. You have just ruined candy for me _forever_. I’ll never be able to look at the candy display again in case they’ve got Almond Joy there! I won’t even be able to think about it again, ever, without remembering you singing that! My poor, innocent ears!”

“Your ears are innocent like my ass is virginal, dude.” Newt poked Tendo in the chest with Richard, unable to stop his grin at Tendo’s expression. It looked like he couldn’t decide between interest and being weirded out. 

Then Tendo snorted as amusement apparently won out. He batted Newt’s toy away with the one he was holding and of course Newt had to respond by trying to poke him again. 

Newt shouldn’t have been the least surprised that it quickly devolved into a fencing match. This was so much fun! So not the sex that was supposed to be happening, but-- Well, in some species...

“I’d ask what the hell we’re doing, but your answer is guaranteed to be ridiculous.” Not that Tendo was stopping, and from the look--and feel-- of it, he was enjoying himself immensely. 

“Well--” Newt would have dragged that out, nice and smug, but like hell was he losing this match, and he needed all of his concentration. “We could be penis-fencing for the right to top, like several species of--shit!” 

Newt admitted defeat and fell back, disarmed--or was that dis-dildo’ed?--and helpless to stop Tendo’s crow of victory. Or the firm poke to his stomach, which had him giggling. If only Tendo knew.

“Victory is mine! Now, what do I win again?” 

Newt moaned, not even partly a sham, and squirmed beneath Tendo’s weight. “My nubile young body. Impregnate away, you stud.” 

He winked. “But be gentle; it’s my first time.” 

Tendo made several choked sounds in the middle, biting his lip, but by the end he was howling with laughter. To be fair, Newt wasn’t actually sure how much of the last sentence he’d gotten out intelligibly through his own laughter. 

They clung to each other helplessly as they laughed, somehow managing to set each other off again each time the laughter started to ease. It felt awesome, even if his stomach was starting to ache from laughing so hard. 

And Tendo looked gorgeous, face alight with mirth. So Newt just had to kiss him in between the giggles. Then Tendo kissed him back, and they both burst out laughing again. 

Newt wasn’t sure exactly when kisses started happening more often than laughing, but Tendo felt-tasted-smelled amazing. Everything was amazing. He ran his fingers through Tendo’s hair and sucked his friend’s tongue into his mouth. Tendo hummed happily and Newt echoed the sound, arching up to plaster himself against Tendo’s chest. It wasn’t enough, so he wrapped his leg around his friend’s sexy hips. The press of cock against his lit--or relit--a fire along his spine. Yeah-- Sex right the fuck now, oh please, _please_ \--

Newt broke the kiss and groaned. Words were failing him again, but somehow--and hell if he knew how--he managed to flail them over so he was on top. 

Tendo blinked up at him in shock and Newt planted another kiss on that gorgeous mouth before reluctantly pulling himself off his friend so he could paw through his sex drawer himself. He wasn’t out of condoms; he was posit--there they were! Well, no, actually it was his box of flavored condoms instead of the regular, but a condom was a condom. He was feeling desperate to make Tendo come apart with his mouth and hands and--

Oh _fuck_ he was so hard right now. Tendo had propped himself up and turned a little so his legs dangled off the bed, and wasn’t that just the perfect invitation? Newt tossed the box up in the vague direction of Tendo’s chest and grabbed his pillow, because kneeling and blowing Tendo just like this suddenly seemed like the best idea ever. 

So Newt pressed frantic little kisses up the inside of Tendo’s thigh to convey his idea, drowning in the musk and salt of clean but slightly overheated skin. Tendo just groaned, voice starting low but scaling higher when Newt reached the hem of his boxer-briefs, and that was so a go-ahead, right? Right. 

And Newt couldn’t even hold himself back long enough to get the damned things off. He mouthed the head of Tendo’s cock through the fabric, and _ew_ rank cotton, but the needy sound and the way Tendo first bucked then went still and trembling was worth every bit of not so pleasant taste and texture. 

He licked and sucked, getting a hint of taste that definitely wasn’t the cloth. A reminder that a condom was getting kind of vital. Newt did desperately want to blow Tendo bare someday, but there was no way that would ever be a regular thing between them, and besides that kind of thing needed actual talking over first. So with a bit of reluctance, Newt finally pulled back and kneaded his hands up Tendo’s thighs.

“Condom ready, man?” 

Newt didn’t look up, wanting too much to see what he was doing next. Tendo didn’t speak, and just exhaled sharply when Newt’s fingers hooked onto the waistband at last, obligingly lifting hips up. Newt pulled. And jackpot. 

Tendo’s cock sprang free all at once, full, flushed, and Newt knew it must be so achingly hard just from looking. Newt didn’t even try to hold back the whimper of want at the sight. This was all because of him. Tendo was so hard and panting for _Newt_ and not anybody else right now. It was the best fucking feeling. 

So of course he had to say something, and give praise to that perfectly proportioned flesh bobbing enthusiastically in front of his face. “Look who’s happy to see me. What a beautiful cock you are.” 

“Dork.” Tendo was trying to grumble but failing so miserably. But there was also a crinkle coming from the same direction. Hell yes, condom soon--

Newt grinned while he waited, and buried his face in Tendo’s crotch, happily nuzzling and breathing deep. Not really an aesthetically pleasing smell by any stretch, but hot damn did it go right to his own cock. Tendo’s cockhead smeared wet against his cheek when he pulled back and Newt shivered from the sensation. He had an idea what he looked like and hoped Tendo liked the sight as much as he liked the image in his head. 

Apparently yes. Tendo made a strangled noise, and when Newt looked up his eyes were screwed shut and his lip going white between his teeth. Newt felt a surge of smug pleasure to be the cause of that look, but it wouldn’t be nearly so much fun if Tendo came before he could thoroughly work his mouth over the cock he’d just been giving such deserving praise. 

Solution? Being ridiculous some more and cooing at Tendo’s cock again. “Don’t worry, my prefect little gentleman. Your person might not appreciate you like he should, but Newt will take the very best care of you.” 

“Epic dork. Here. Now for the love of... stop talking to my cock and giving me a complex.” 

That was much more coherent, if maybe a bit miffed, and condom, hell yeah. Newt almost dropped it in his eagerness, but he caught it just in time and started rolling it on like a pro. If he did say so himself, which he did, so there. Soon. 

Tendo shook under his fingers, but he was watching the proceedings with all kinds of interest. It made Newt feel warm and spurred him on. So even though he wasn’t quite done, Newt had to lean down and give a good starting lick--

And nearly gagged. Of all the flavors in that stupid box--

“Banana? Really? You _know_ how much I despise artificial banana, dude.” 

Tendo had the gall to smirk. He’d so planned on making Newt blow him with banana flavor stuck in his mouth; Newt could see it all over him. Jerk. “You were holding a conversation with my cock, my man. Made me feel unappreciated.” 

“You giant dick.” 

Tendo shifted to rest a hand lightly on his head. A not so subtle sign that he wanted things on the road. “You love my giant dick.” 

“No, dude, I love your perfectly average cock.” 

And Newt _so_ meant that. The size, the shape, even the exact color it turned all full and flushed with blood were such a huge turn on. If it was possible to be in love with a cock, Newt had fallen hard for Tendo’s. It was a perfect fit, no matter what kind of sex they got up to, and Newt really just couldn’t get enough--which had caused some problems at first, but those were all sorted now.

Not that he didn’t sometimes wonder and fantasize about cocks of _all_ different shapes and sizes--and vaginas too, but those were harder to picture--of course. As long as they were realistic! But Tendo’s cock, he could write songs about. 

Tendo wasn’t having any of that, though, and sounded way more than a little affronted. Shit. Sometimes Newt wished he could just drift with Tendo, and share everything that was in his head. 

“That was _low_ , Newt.” 

“Dude, I’m serious. You have no idea how much I love your cock. It’s perfect.” 

“Don’t try to tell me that right after--”

“Do I need to pull up research on the dimensions of the human vagina? Because size does matter and you are literally the _perfect_ size. Who even wants a huge cock? Do you have any idea the blood volume required to maintain an erection of the kind of size you see in porn flicks? Bigger is so _not_ better. It was a compliment--” 

Tendo heaved a sigh, looking kind of conflicted, but mostly still pissed off. “Okay. Fine. I get it. You have a science kink and are like only a few classes short of a medical degree or whatever, but you just _told me_ that I was average and nothing special and now you’re trying--”

“No!” Oh _shit_ , he’d really gone and put his foot in it again, and now Tendo was _wilting_ and mad. Newt felt all kinds of pre-panicked. So much for his own hard-on. “No, please. That’s not at _all_ what I meant.” 

“Way to murder the mood, brother.” 

No, no, no, no. Fuck. Tendo hadn’t called him brother since before the first time they’d had sex. Please no, don’t be happening--

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His eyes prickled with a hot sting, and he pressed his forehead to Tendo’s thigh to hide his face. “I fucked up. Please don’t end--” 

“Newt, what--” There was a moment of silence, then Tendo’s hands found his face. Newt tried to resist but the grip firmed up and--

Tendo looked more worried than angry now, and confused. “Why-- Oh. _Oh_. Fuck, I didn’t mean--”

He cut himself off and laughed, a short, sharp burst that sounded self-deprecating. “Come up here, you monumental fuck-up.” 

That _hurt_ but Tendo’s voice sounded warmer again, so maybe this wasn’t the _end_ , the end. Newt didn’t resist the pull, and looked Tendo in the eyes. He was still running hot, and a big part of him wanted to get back to the sex, but he’d destroyed more than one relationship by taking the easy, feel-good way out. He didn’t want to do that again, not with Tendo. 

“I’m sorry. Honest. I don’t think--” 

“C’mere.” Tendo pulled him closer in, with a big huff of breath through his hair. “Two things. One: you’re not couched forever, and I didn’t mean to imply that. Two: this isn’t a friendship ending deal either, which I know you’re thinking because you can’t seem to comprehend anything that isn’t all or nothing, so don’t get yourself all over-dramatic and worked up over it.” 

Okay. Okay, that was good. Well, not _good_ , because not couched forever really just meant he was couched for the foreseeable future. But Tendo wasn’t rage-quitting on him yet. He could focus on that fact and they’d make it through, somehow.

And that meant he could apologize again, because it was so important that Tendo didn’t think that Newt thought that kind of thing about him. 

“Seriously, Tendo, dude--” He didn’t really have anything special to use just for Tendo, like Tendo did for him. That needed fixing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I think you’re perfect! I was so jerking off to you before we even had sex.” 

Which was embarrassing to admit, but true. Close quarters and just _Tendo_ and... who could blame him? 

Tendo groaned in a way that wasn’t sexy at all, and slumped backwards, only pausing to pull the condom off his soft cock. “You’re going to be like a dog with a bone about this, aren’t you? Also, there’s this thing called too much information and-- Ugh, Newt, you and your toys--” 

Newt winced. Please be Richard and not T-- It wasn’t Richard. Of course. Everything that could go wrong _would_. Newt could feel his face heating up with mortification. Tendo wasn’t supposed to know and he was lucky that Tendo hadn’t picked up on it earlier. But... maybe Tendo wouldn’t ...notice now either? 

Tendo’s eyes focused on the toy. Newt bit his lip, not daring to move. 

Tendo looked at Newt. He couldn’t hold himself still and started to squirm under the pressure of Tendo’s stare. 

Tendo looked back at the toy, and Newt would have called his expression of confused realization adorable--hot, sexy-sweet--at any other time. 

“Oh _fuck_ me.” 

“I can expl--”

“Shut up!” Tendo immediately winced and continued with a softer tone. “I’m pretty sure it’s a scientific fact that when you try to explain the convoluted way your head works you only make things worse. So just answer my questions, okay? Concisely.” 

Watching Tendo turn the toy over in his hands--and the color _was_ a shade off, damn--was going to give him the weirdest hard-on. Newt decided it was important enough to be quiet and obedient even if it killed him and nodded. 

“When did you get this? How long?” Newt really, really didn’t like the expression on Tendo’s face, or the tone. Shit. He’d really fucked this up forever. “And take a breath before you answer that. I’m not mad.” 

Breathing was very good advice. Newt took three before he answered. “Do you remember that argument where you said I was too high maintenance and needy for regular hookups? And that you could tell me exactly why I’d never had a close friend or a real relationship that hadn’t imploded on me because I was a completely self-absorbed, arrogant man-child and how could someone so smart be so completely awful as a human being and--” 

“Not my finest moment there.” Tendo sounded almost contrite, which didn’t make much sense. 

“You were right. Well, maybe not about all the details, but we both know I suck at people and relationships. I--” And sometimes Newt wondered why Tendo stayed, and those thoughts were bad. He was trying, but every time something like this happened, it only ground into him how much he _hadn’t_ changed or grown or whatever. 

Change the subject, fast. “But while we were doing the really awkward, not-even-looking-at-the-guy-I’m-sharing-a-tiny-room-with thing, I just... It seemed like a really good idea at the time? I regretted it a little later, but I already had it and no returns.”

Tendo arched a single eyebrow at that, but then turned his attention back to the toy. “You do so many things that ‘seem like a really good idea at the time’ and turn out not to be. Maybe you should start rethinking things before you go through with them. But. Okay. Next question. Do you use it?” 

“It’s my favorite.” Wait, wait, maybe he should have just said yes, instead--

Tendo shuddered. Was that a good shudder? Newt hoped. “Wow, okay. I should not be turned on, because this should be really fucking creepy-- You weren’t just being a thoughtless asshole and backpedaling when it got you in hot water just now, were you? You actually meant what you said as a weird, Newtonesque compliment.”

“Yeah.” And he could hold his tongue, he could, and not launch into an attempt to explain. 

Tendo made a distracting noise that saved him from failing in that. “And you imagine me when you do use it.” That wasn’t a question, but Tendo didn’t give him a chance to respond anyway. “Last question. Why do you use it?” 

Damn. Damn. He so didn’t want to pick apart his own weirdness right now. “I-- You’re asking me to explain things, Tendo, and I thought we agreed that that was a bad idea. I just... I know it’s weird and fucked up and creepy. I miss you sometimes. I guess? And we’re back to Newton shouldn’t explain things. But, I think I haven’t been so high maintenance?” 

Newt had his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to watch Tendo’s expression fall. Then there was a touch to his face, and Tendo’s expression was so intense. But not...upset, he thought. Newt wanted to just kiss him and not think about all of this. Bad idea. 

And, he didn’t actually go through with it, either, even as the silence stretched. That was progress, he hoped? 

“I’m proud of you, my friend.” Tendo sounded proud, but what. There was a disconnect somewhere and Newt couldn’t figure out where. “No, just listen. Yes, you’re needy under the gritty, edgy manic dude you try to show to people. Yes, you are incredibly high maintenance. If I was just caring about my own peace of mind, I should probably dump your ass and leave you behind, because you are not good for my stress level. Don’t even-- Hush. I don’t envy you one bit, and maybe because I’m not a psychologist, but I just don’t _get_ how you’re as functional as you are. No offense to your parents, but no kid that _fucking_ young should ever be in college away from home, no matter how gifted. I swear you learned all the wrong things from all the wrong people. But I also know the man who has such an overwhelming passion for the world and everything in it, and really does have a heart of gold under there. I know your thirst and love for learning, and how much you want to save the world from more than just the Kaiju. You’ve got so much compassion when you don’t have your head up your own ass. And you grew on me.”

Like a fungus, but Newt didn’t make the joke. He was going to be good and salvage this. Tendo smiled and huffed out some word Newt didn’t quite hear. “And you’re growing as a person, my man, and I can see it. So I’m proud of you.” 

Oh. Oh wow. Some of that hurt to hear, and some of it felt good. Newt tried to say something back but his throat had closed up. He would have dumped himself if he’d been Tendo. Most people who’d been in Tendo’s place had, eventually, and Newt had blamed them then. Now, he was pretty sure ninety percent of it was him. Self-awareness was an absolute bitch.

Sitting up while Tendo was lying down felt awkward, but Newt wasn’t sure Tendo wanted him so close. He lay down anyway, careful not to touch, because it was his bed, dammit. 

There was actual silence. Newt was terrible at silence, but he let it last as long as he could. “Thanks, for everything. It kind of sounds sappy, but I don’t know what the hell I would have done without you and all the stuff you’ve done for me.” 

Wow, that was harder to admit than he’d even thought it would be. And it brought up a whole host of other things about Tendo and Newt didn’t know where to begin unraveling it all. 

“No need, my man. Just don’t turn into a secret heartless bastard or try a megalomaniac world-takeover on me.” Then his glasses were plucked off his face and Tendo was close, warm and firm. 

“I’m the hero; didn’t you get the memo?” Newt could deal with this. This was probably better than sex. He was only a little disappointed that sex was apparently off the menu for at least right now. But getting some of the heavy shit that they’d been avoiding, and Newt knew it couldn’t be all of it, taken care of made him feel lighter. 

“We’re not done though. With all this...” Newt didn’t know how to finish the sentence and just made a gesture. Hopefully Tendo would get it. 

“With serious discussions like actual adults about relationships and feelings? Not by a long shot.” Tendo rolled, kind of trapping Newt under him, but it felt nice. “But it never is finished. Now, though, I think we’ve done all we can take.” 

Newt almost wanted to argue that he could take more, except he probably really couldn’t and it was just his need to prove... he honestly hardly knew anymore. But this was good. And Tendo’s fingers were back in his hair, and wow, emotional stuff left him feeling really drained. Maybe he’d close his eyes for a minute, and then they could get actual food or something...

Newt was warm. A little too warm, actually. He’d fallen asleep again, but this time, Tendo was on top of him. Too warm wasn’t so bad, in that case. Tendo’s face was relaxed and his breathing was deep and regular. It was such a relief to see after earlier. He was glad they’d sorted things out. 

He was glad Tendo was sleeping happily, and not stewing or anything. He was glad... for a lot of things, really, but ugh, what time was it? Had he slept all--nope. The blurry numbers on the super-sized alarm-clock said it’d only been a couple hours. Still morning, even, if only barely. 

Hermann would probably be okay for another couple of hours, and Tendo looked so relaxed that Newt didn’t want to wake him. His hair was falling into his face, and Newt had to admit it was adorable. He couldn’t resist moving, totally stealthily, to brush it away, because d’aww. Tendo looked so much younger than twenty-five like this. 

“Watching someone while they sleep is rude and creepy, you know.” 

Newt so didn’t yelp at the unexpected comment. No yelping at all. “I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

Wait. “You were totally awake already. Who was watching who, jerk?” 

Tendo laughed, eyes open now, and glittering with mischief. Newt shoved him off the bed.

Or that was the plan, but Tendo had a grip of iron and Newt was dragged with. At least the shove hadn’t been enough to send them both off. Newt ended up half on top of Tendo and his cock chose that moment to remind him that he’d been so very, very geared up for sex earlier and that it had been so cruelly snatched away. Damn. 

He...should probably apologize to Tendo too, for that. “I’m sorry, about. Uh. Earlier. With blue-balling you again and everything.” 

Tendo smirked, and whoa, he was already hard underneath Newt. “You can make it up to me.” 

“Wait, Tendo, I thought I was couched?” Tendo had said that earlier; Newt had an excellent memory, thanks very much. 

Tendo kissed him, hard and sloppy. Well, fuck, that answered that. Partly. Newt went with it, not about to endanger a good fuck with himself again. They sure weren’t going slow if the way Tendo was grinding against him was any indication. Fine by Newt, because he’d have less of a chance to screw it up. 

But he had to pull back to catch a little breath. Or well, he didn’t _have_ to, but a little break would keep them both from coming too soon. “So glad me blowing you is back on the table--” 

Tendo laughed and then bit him, the dick. It was only a light bite, but it was right over one of the bruises, and that was not so much fun when unexpected. “Absolutely. I had way too much time to think about you fucking yourself to fantasies of me after my nap and while you were still out.”

“So not creepy as a final verdict?” Because he remembered that too, and it was a relief, because Newt knew it was weird, but... 

Tendo bucked, and then handed him a wrapped condom--not banana this time, thank god--with a low hum. “A little creepy. Mostly that you didn’t _tell_ me you somehow had a custom dildo of my cock made. And how the hell--”

“No way, dude. It wasn’t a custom; those run into way more than I could afford with my salary. It took me _hours_ to find the existing model that was closest, and it still doesn’t have quite the right diameter, and yours has this cute little curve to it--” 

His next word was muffled in a kiss that was a little rough, and then Tendo gave him a little shove. “Blowing me now; talking later. I don’t want to have to come down from being hard without _coming_ this time.” 

Newt huffed, but since he definitely agreed, he pulled himself off Tendo and tore open the wrapper to the condom. He wasn’t fully hard, but Tendo was, and he definitely needed to make it up to his... friend. They were still just friends and fuckbuddies, right? Thinking later, or he’d cockblock them both again. 

The condom had a faintly sweet smell when he rolled it on, and it was shockingly pink. Tasted of strawberries when Newt leaned down for a lick. Strawberry flavor Newt could totally do. 

Tendo moaned, hands already in Newt’s hair, and Newt sucked the head into his mouth. He loved this, the feel and pressure against his tongue and throat, but more than that, knowing how _good_ he was making Tendo feel. He cupped Tendo’s balls in one hand and massaged his hips with the other while he slurped and sucked, warming up to take more in.

And... he’d been planning on doing this quick and dirty, but Tendo deserved so much more than just a quick climax. Newt slowed down, planting kisses over the sides and exchanging his hand and mouth. Oh fuck, the taste of skin was such a turn-on, and Tendo’s complaint trailed off into a gasp as his friend’s thighs opened to let him get his mouth down fully to pay attention to Tendo’s neglected balls. 

Tendo was shaking, muscles in his thighs and stomach contracting almost rhythmically, and Newt lost himself in that rhythm, the sound of his heartbeat and Tendo’s approving moans in his ears and the taste of skin and fake strawberry on his tongue. 

When he returned to Tendo’s cock a minute, or forever, later, he swallowed all the way, feeling pubic hair against his nose and pressure threatening to gag him. But he so had this, so he didn’t gag, moaned instead, and Tendo cursed in sync with him. 

And it was so hard from this angle but he looked up, and met Tendo’s eyes. His friend had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching in between shuddering moans that drove his neck to arch and shuttered his eyes closed. It was beautiful and the sight alone made Newt moan again. He turned the moan into a hum, pulled back just enough to breathe, and then bobbed down again. Tendo bucked and Newt let him. 

A heel pressed into his back a moment later and Newt let that happen too. His neck was going to be sore, but it was worth it, and if he wanted to jerk himself off because this was so fucking hot, well, he could wait. His hands were both very full of Tendo and Newt wasn’t about to--

The finger cots and lube were _right there_ , and the thought of fingering Tendo was suddenly crowding out everything else. Oh yeah, that would be awesome if Tendo agreed. 

If Tendo agreed, because if he wasn’t in the mood he really, _really_ wasn’t and Newt didn’t want to pull off to ask. Dilemma. Or maybe not. He could just shift a little and grab--

When he tapped the box against Tendo’s hip, Tendo jerked in a way that had nothing to do with Newt’s mouth on his cock. 

At first Newt thought Tendo didn’t get it, or that he was going to say no, but Tendo nodded finally. His voice was hoarse, even though he hadn’t been particularly loud with his moans so far. “What? Oh. Okay. Okay, yeah. Yeah. Please.” 

The please almost did Newt in. Oh fucking yes. He was glad for the concentration of getting the cots over his fingers for the needed distance to calm himself down, and he’d totally need to change his sheets later, because that was little too much lube but... well, messy was nice, and Tendo would appreciate it. 

He bottomed out, getting Tendo’s cock as deep as he could in his throat, for the first finger. Nice and slow, rubbing in concentric circles, each pressing a tiny bit harder. So tense at first, because Tendo was absolutely awful at relaxing for this, but Newt could be patient and wait for--

There. He could hear it, feel it, see it, almost _taste_ it, when Tendo’s pleasure hit that point where he could just relax and accept. Tendo’s moan was way loud, and full of shudders that were echoed in a stutter of his hips, and shaking in his thighs. Clench, relax, clench, relax, relax, _collapse_. Newt wished he could look down from the ceiling, because he felt more than saw Tendo’s elbows give out on him, and he definitely felt how Tendo arched into him.

Newt tongued the glans of that sweet cock in his mouth while one knuckle became two, and the heat made him shudder like he was the one being taken apart piece by piece. 

Tendo’s hands found his hair again at last, and the touch was gentle like it always was. Almost hesitant, like Tendo _wanted_ to grab and pull, but was too much of a gentleman to actually do it. Usually it was just pressure and never any more, but this time, fingers carded through his hair and oh. _Oh_ , wow, fuck, yes. Newt had to lift his head off most of Tendo’s cock for a moment just to express how nice it was. 

He didn’t need to get any more than two fingers in to reach where he wanted, and started a slow rhythm of thrusts and firm internal strokes at half pace with how he was bobbing his head. He was glad he’d used so much lube now, because the obscene squelch perfectly echoed how Tendo felt around his fingers and he knew Tendo was getting close from how his breathing had sped up to a ragged round of gasps. 

No more full moans, just little grunts in between gulps of air, and Tendo was fully working his hips in no kind of rhythm. So, so close. Just a little more. Come on, come on, comeoncomeoncome _on_ \--

Newt could feel it, when Tendo finally went over. There was no sound, just a hard press of that heel into his back as Tendo worked his spine into an arch, hips lifted and every muscle in his legs clenched so tight. 

Then he relaxed, just as sudden, and Newt heard his name breathed out with more air than sound.

Newt pulled his fingers out and his mouth off, but worked his other hand slowly into Tendo’s quads until he got the cots wiggled off and hopefully fully into the trash can. Then it was both hands, and he kept up a litany of kisses and nonsense words against Tendo’s stomach, hips and thighs until Tendo was fully soft and not breathing so hard. 

And he totally should have thought of a warm cloth, not that it would still be warm _now_ but whatever, but he hadn’t so his wet wipes would have to do. Newt was so achingly hard that it was impossible to keep his hands from trembling, but he wasn’t going to leave Tendo gross. He felt Tendo move, but the task was taking all of his concentration at the moment, so it managed to be a surprise when Tendo grabbed his wrist and kissed him. 

Newt’s brain was insisting that he needed to come, _now_ , and he was sure he missed the trash-can with the last wipe, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The taste of Tendo’s kiss sent sizzles through his nerves after the strawberry flavor, and okay, yeah, his jaw and neck were definitely on their way to sore, but Newt only could whine wordlessly for Tendo’s hand. 

Then Tendo suddenly pushed him back and it startled Newt enough that he actually found words again. “Tendo? Dude, man, I--” 

Not coherent words, but oh well. 

Tendo just laughed, looking a little unsteady still, but with that deep contented smile that Newt associated with having really given him a good time. “Shh. Returning the favor, my man.” 

But Tendo usually didn’t push him down like this for a hand-job, and the confusion was actually enough to bring Newt back from the edge. So... grinding? Grinding himself off against Tendo’s thigh or hip with Tendo’s face right _there_ \-- So down with that. 

Newt twisted, reached, and got pushed back down. Okay. _What?_

Then it hit with the sound of the condom wrapper. Wow. Giving blow-jobs was so _far_ from Tendo’s favorite thing, and he was going to blow Newt. Newt almost came right then and there

“Tendo-- Tendo, you don’t. I. _Tendo_.” The last scaled up into a shout as Tendo’s mouth followed the condom onto his cock with no wait whatsoever. 

Newt gripped the sheets and twisted them in his hands, trying so hard to remember not to buck. But the mouth around the tip of his cock felt so fucking good, and even better was seeing the stretch of Tendo’s lips and the way his eyes had fallen closed to fan his lashes against his cheeks. 

Then Tendo’s forearm pressed hard against his hips, and Tendo pulled off to look at him. His chin was wet; Newt whined again at the sight. 

And his voice was syrupy and thick. “‘S’okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you--” 

Newt bucked, but Tendo’s weight held him down. Newt yelled, and Tendo kissed his cock harder. 

Then Tendo’s hand closed around the base of his cock with quick, firm strokes. Newt wasn’t going to last long _at all_. Tendo’s kisses became licks and Newt could feel the vibrations of the moans all the way down to the root. The sound made Newt’s heart jump in his chest with a kind of pleasure that was only tangentially related to how mindblowingly good his cock felt. 

Tendo was going out of his comfort zone for him, and that was the best thing of all. So when Tendo shifted to suck hard against the head, tongue flattening and stroking along the slit through the latex, Newt was lost. 

He came with a sudden wail.

Suddenly everything was too bright, too sharp, and pleasure was shaking him so much that Newt was surprised to see the ceiling at first. But Tendo was amazing, and he could feel soft kisses against his stomach, and the zing of fleeting touches to his softening, oversensitive cock as Tendo gently soothed him down instead of letting him plummet. 

Newt struggled to get words back, and only managed to get out Tendo’s name, which made him look up and smile. Newt smiled back. It was a little easier to unclench his fingers and press his hand against Tendo’s cheek. There was a chuckle and he wasn’t sure if it was his or Tendo’s but Tendo kissed his palm and then stroked hands down his thighs--

Ow. Fuck. The scratches-- Newt felt himself wobble over the precipice as the pain tore into the afterglow. 

Then he noticed the stricken expression on Tendo’s face and felt himself start to fall. Scratches shouldn’t--

Inflamed, necrotic, _Blue_ , spreading like tiny spiderwebs out from awful lines--

The bottom dropped out. 

**Day 3, ???**

He was dead. Dying. The exact when was unknown but undeniably _coming_ , and he’d _hoped_ \--

He’d hoped and wished, and tried to convince himself it measured out in his favor. His monster had cleaned the tank, washed the poison away, and cleaned again, after that. He’d hoped that the poison hadn’t sunk claws in him. 

For that brief, so brief, time hope had been enough, and with it came plans. He’d plotted and ran the measures in his head, and if only his leg would heal more quickly, he would be returned to the sea so soon. 

But he was dead, poison nested in his wounds like a parasite, turning the gashes foul and blue around the edges. He’d heard the long songs and their warnings, knew the progress. Nothing stopped it once it got inside. He would _rot_ , slow and painful, and maybe even his bones would crumble and dissolve. If his gills didn’t shred and bleed blue until he drowned first. 

He didn’t want to die like the songs had described, by claw-widths and spreading more of the poison as he did. Maybe... Maybe he could stop eating again, and hope his monster understood why. 

Maybe she would even help, and give him a gentle and quick release. Yes. She was intelligent and a healer, so surely she would know the signs and know that there was no hope. How did the monsters do it? If she was a person, he knew, she would hold him close and carefully dig her claws down into the large vein in his throat, and sing to him while his lifeblood drained. 

That would be acceptable, preferable to starving. But how to ask her?

He was trembling like a frightened child. Why? She had shown such kindness so far, was he truly that afraid she would deny him this mercy? 

Or perhaps that she wouldn’t understand why it was necessary. Had the poison been among them long enough for the monsters to know how terrible it truly was? 

He felt ill, sick and tired, and even though he should compose his epitaph, it was so much work. Who would even sing it to the people after he was gone? His monster? She wouldn’t even understand what it was and there was no time to teach her.

Damn her to the darkest deep, where _was_ she? He wanted this done; wished he had space, because oh, how he needed to swim, to move, to-- 

The poison was like a thief, and it was stealing even the joy of going to join his mate away. 

No, no, that was all he had. He cried out, lost and mournful, and swam in circles until he couldn’t tell up from down and the water splashed out of the shell. 

Where was she? With her mate, no doubt, contented and planning for their children. Oh how he _hated_ \--

No. There she was. He called out to her, faltered, and tried to find his song again. Why was he shaking so badly?

Why hadn’t she heard? She’d always come right to the shell shortly after coming in, if not right away, before. 

Something wasn’t _right_ and he needed to figure out what it was. To his surprise the shaking eased as he put his mind to what he was witnessing. 

Her mobile mouth was open, with the corners turned down, and she was moving around in sharp, jerking movements. The false skin was hanging off her body, not secured like it always had been before, and the tendril missing entirely. Her hind-paws were _bare_ , and now that he was truly looking, as strangely shaped as the false ones but looking too delicate to stand on at all. 

And there was the song of her mate, not looking much better, in spite of the false-paws he was actually wearing. His false-skin wasn’t hanging, but true skin was easy to see where it gaped open. 

She pushed her mate away when he tried to get close, and then shoved something at him. He made what was probably a protest, but she sang like claws at him in return.

Then she sat on her perch and thrust her bare forelimb at him, pulling a cord tight around the upper part with her teeth and other paw. What? 

Her mate protested again, it had to be a protest, but this time she didn’t sing back and just curled her limbs tight against her body. 

This was all so very _wrong_. 

Finally after a long silence, her mate sang something short and so very soft, and she held her forelimb out again. The cord was so tight it looked like it would cut into her flesh if it got any tighter. 

Then he saw the not-stone claw. He knew those, and couldn’t stop the cry of fear and dismay. Straight and thin, but this one was smaller, they had been stabbed into him again and again. Sometimes blood and other parts of himself were sucked out of him, and others... he wasn’t sure if there was any reason besides causing him pain. 

And yes, he could see it now that she was guiding her mate’s paws to press the claw in. Her blood was sucked out and into a small clear shell. 

He recoiled in horror, remembering the pain. Why would she force her mate to do that to her? 

Her mate looked away as she pulled the claw out of herself and took the shell of blood away to objects he had no name for. He watched her move, still so sharp and jerking, and her mate collapse onto the perch to place his head in his paws. 

She was doing something with the blood, that was certain, and pulling off the white that she’d used to cover the marks he’d left when he nearly drowned her.

He felt uneasy, more horrified than ever. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t. The measures might have been against him, but not--

The brief wail startled him from his thoughts. Her mate was up and had his forelimbs around her, pulling her away from what she had been doing. She struggled, but he was clearly the stronger of the pair. 

He could hear the sounds she was making, and the choked cries hurt worse than the claws that had been dug into him. 

The song her mate was singing sounded like it might be an attempt to soothe, and perhaps it was. All the fight left her and she sagged. He stumbled, and they both ended up on the cave floor. He kept his forelimbs around her, pulling her close as he dipped his face down so his forehead rested against her fur. She turned finally, and dug her paws into the false-skin he was wearing. They were both wracked with shaking jerks, though he was quieter. 

Then she wailed again, long, high and thin, and he got a good look at her neck, uncovered for the first time in he didn’t know how long. 

Rotting blue. Moon-mother’s mercy, the vile one had killed them both--

All he could do was lift his voice and mourn with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few tiny thoughts. Part of me wishes there was room for Tendo's POV in this, especially for this chapter and upcoming chapters, but alas, that's not in the plan. Perhaps at some other time I'll do a side-fic to this 'verse with Tendo's thoughts on all the things.
> 
> Also, I couldn't find very much information at all on how Blue infection works in the movie canon, so I made it up mostly from scratch for this story. So if there are glaring discrepancies from canon Blue in this, they're all on me.


	8. Reeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made a couple tiny retroactive edits to things, based on the DVD extras (mostly just Newt's uncle's name, really, because I like the DVD name better), but kept his age the same, because the change really didn't make sense to me, and was outnumbered by the other supplemental sources anyway. ~~So, how was he born in Jan. 1980 if his parents didn't _meet_ until the 1980s again?~~
> 
> But, grumbling about DVD extras aside, chapter warnings. 
> 
> Okay, big warning in this chapter for medical procedures (including sedation/anesthesia) done without consent. Without informed consent at the very least. 
> 
> Also a warning for accidental sexual(ised) touching during a medical exam. It's very brief and not intended, but it happens. 
> 
> Continued warnings for suicidal ideation, euthanasia, assisted suicide, and depression. 
> 
> Lastly, harem keepers come up again, so warnings for all the sexual servitude and consent issues that come along with that social institution too.

**Day 4, Newt**

Six months. Six months at the most. If he didn’t develop lesions on his heart, suffer catastrophic respiratory failure or--or any one of the dozen different complications to Blue Type III. 

So six months, and probably not more than three. _If_ he was unbelievably lucky. 

Three months. Shitshitshit. Newt didn’t want to die. There was so much left to do, to _learn_ and oh _god_ , Tendo. He’d never seen Tendo break down and really cry before and those sobs that had shaken him earlier...

Ohgodohgodohgod. Tendo had already lost-- _Oh god._ Tendo. Oh god. _Tendo_.

Don’t think about it. Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. Think about anything else. No. Nope. _No_. Think about... about... Hermann.

Hermann was going to die with him. Newt had been so hoping, looking forward to, rehabilitating him for the wild once he’d gotten the data they needed, and now Hermann was going to die. Poor, amazing Hermann. It felt like losing something precious, like a one of a kind recording. Hermann was so smart, multi-step problem solving level smart even, and probably even smarter than dolphins. Or maybe even crows, and corvids were so smart it was scary. And, oh god, what if Hermann was cognitively aware enough to realize and comprehend how sick he was and that he was going to die? 

Newt’s next breath came out in a sob. He should do it. With all the suffering Hermann had already gone through, and how bad Blue would hurt him before it finally killed him, it would be so much kinder to euthanize him. It wasn’t like there was hope for a cure any time soon. In the four years since Trespasser, they’d only just started figuring out how Blue Types II and III even worked. The pathology was so alien, and unlike any other toxin. Sometimes, Newt thought, looking at the data, that it had similarities to viral or bacterial infections. Or cancer. Or all three. 

Types II and III weren’t at all like Type I, which really did act like poisoning. That Type, at least, they’d finally figured out how to treat and fully prevent, earlier this year. Figures that the least common Type would be the most preventable, and perfectly treatable, as long as treatment came fast enough. 

And still, after all the work that had been done, nothing of the kind for II or III. For Type III, which he definitely had, the only option was delaying tactics, and once the infection got into the bloodstream, those tactics didn’t last very long. Newt had tested his blood, twice, and both times got a strong positive. If he’d listened to Tendo--But medical wouldn’t have thought to check him for Blue infection. There was no way he could have come in contact with unpreserved Kaiju specimens, which were what caused the whole Kaiju Blue phenomena. It was the _rotting_ that created the real danger; they’d figured that out after enough Kaiju had hit land. 

Except, he had. And it had been Hermann’s tank. Hermann’s tank that hadn’t been labeled as unfiltered, or untested for Kaiju Blue--or was it tested and that bastard had intentionally left the tank unlabeled?

And now Newt had Blue Type III, and the only options were medicating to flush out and counter the toxic byproducts of the infection, and getting the lesions debrided and cauterized to slow the spread and decrease the risk of secondary infections.

Those methods wouldn’t give him much more time though. And any injury he got, even as small as the needle left behind in drawing of his blood earlier, would eventually attract the infection and cause more Blue lesions. Cutting away the existing Blue, followed by cauterizing the surrounding tissue would keep it from reforming for a little while, but when it came back it would be bigger. There was only so much cutting and cauterizing that could be done before the damage the treatment caused was actually worse than the disease. And these facts made dealing with internal lesions almost impossible. Even laproscopic surgery was practically begging for more, and more dangerous, lesions to form.

Still, Newt knew he needed to get these debrided and cauterized, or he might not even have six weeks, much less three months. The forming lesions on his neck could so easily spread to his jugular, or his carotid, or even the spinal cord. At least the first two would be a quick death when the lesion finally caused the blood vessel to burst and he bled out, but the last... 

Newt would rather die right this minute than go through that. Maybe he should--

Maybe he should...

Save PPDC resources. Save everyone the weeks of watching him get sicker and sicker helplessly, and then eventually having to watch him die. Save _Tendo_ from that additional hurt--

Oh god, oh god, oh god-- Newt choked on something that might have become a scream. He was shaking and tears were dripping down his cheeks again. He’d never been so scared. He wanted to go curl up on Uncle Illia’s lap like he had when he’d had nightmares as a little boy. But Illia was dead. Or maybe he wanted to curl up with Tendo instead. Tendo was still alive, but he’d been gone since Newt had refused to go to medical. They’d only quarantine him! Or kick him out of the Shatterdome entirely. Couldn’t risk the valuable pilots and techs catching the Blue when Newt started oozing contagion from every pore.

Tendo had just walked right out when Newt had told him--yelled, actually--that. Newt didn’t know how long ago that had been, but it didn’t really matter. He still didn’t want to be trapped in a sterile, tiny room with nothing to do for the rest of... his life. Better to be in the lab where he could work. Maybe he could track down the Kaiju before... before--

Newt tried to hold back the sob that was clawing at his throat. God, he was so... pathetic. Some rockstar. Some hero. He couldn’t even think about his impending death without wanting to curl into a fetal position and cry. He felt frozen, shaking, helpless. Where was his courage? 

Newt had always imagined laughing in death’s face, giving it the double finger, and then telling it to give him its best shot. Being all cool and badass, and “over my dead body”--

The laugh actually startled him. That was exactly what death _did._ Dumbest words of defiance ever. 

Newt felt like he’d been sucker-punched and then knocked on his ass for good measure. What should he do? What _could_ he do?

Even with a fully staffed lab of researchers specializing in humans and unlimited funding, could they crack Kaiju Blue in three months when the past four years hadn’t been enough? 

Given enough time, Newt was sure they _would_ solve it, and cure all Blue Types. The Blue wasn’t the real enemy here, just some kind of minion. The real enemy was time, and he was a stone cold bastard that didn’t even slow down for nobody. Newt could do some really amazing things, in his humble opinion, but he couldn’t control time.

And he had three months. If he was lucky. It all came back to that. 

_Fuck_. 

“Hey.” 

Newt jerked up. That was Tendo’s voice, so soft that Newt almost thought he’d imagined it, until the blurry image in the doorway resolved into his friend. 

“Tendo?” God, he sounded like he’d been crying and screaming until he was hoarse. Well, mostly right. But Tendo had come back. That was good. Probably. Actually, even if Tendo had come to betray him to medical, Newt couldn’t care less. His friend was here--

He didn’t remember getting to his feet, only that his bare feet felt frozen against the floor, but Tendo felt so warm. Tendo’s arms came around him, and they swayed for a moment, perilously off balance. 

“Easy there.” Tendo’s voice didn’t sound much better than Newt’s. “I thought you might want some shoes and socks.” 

Newt could feel them against his back, hanging from Tendo’s fingers. Good idea. “Thanks, man.” 

“No problem. Come on, let’s--” Tendo started nudging and Newt went with it. 

Newt ended up back in his chair with Tendo kneeling and pulling socks onto his cold feet. It felt...nice. And Newt didn’t think he could even manage laces with the way he kept breaking out with shakes each time he thought about-- Damn, there he went again. 

“Geez, your feet are freezing.” Proof of that was how incredibly warm Tendo’s hands felt against his feet, even as his friend muttered those words. But the moment didn’t last and his shoes didn’t feel nearly as good. 

Tendo pulled him back to his feet next and Newt just...went with it. He might never get a chance to touch Tendo again, and if Tendo wanted to button up his shirt for him, Newt wasn’t going to complain. He was going to hold onto every touch, like it was precious. 

A couple of moments passed in silence. Newt probably should have--would have, before--broken it, just to feel more normal, but he was concentrating hard on not shaking. Or thinking about that thing he didn’t want to even name. It wasn’t working and Tendo was picking up on that if his next question was any indication. 

“You’re not in some kind of shock, are you?” 

“Shock? No way. Or, circulatory shock, if you mean that, because that’s like... They use shock for a lot of different things. I’m not a medical doctor, but probably not?” 

“Your confidence is so inspiring.” Tendo was going for droll and sarcastic, but it came out kind of broken. “And you look like a wreck. Your shirt isn’t even tucked in.” 

Newt wanted to answer with something witty and cool, but the fear rose back up--sick, dying, no time, notimenotime--so he just let his head fall forward against Tendo’s shoulder while his shirt was manhandled back into his pants. He didn’t even have the steadiness to make a crack about Tendo wanting in his pants. It would be a perfect thing to say to lighten the mood. He should do it; it would probably make Tendo smile. He was going to say it, for Tendo--

There was a quiet sound of somebody doing that clearing-my-throat-to-catch-your-attention thing behind Tendo. They both jumped and Newt lifted his head to see--

Marshall Pentecost. 

_Shit._

“Shit.” Like minds, even if Tendo had said it out loud and Newt just...didn’t have the energy.

“If I’m not interrupting, gentlemen.” The Marshall’s expression betrayed nothing at all, that Newt could see. He just stood tall and straight, exactly like the soldier he was, and it was like not even a Kaiju could knock him over. Newt could never decide whether he admired the man or resented him.

Today, resentment was winning. Newt was falling apart and he knew it. Even with Tendo fussing and trying to put him back together, he was a total mess. And there was Marshall Pentecost, rubbing in Newt’s face the cool, badass, completely in control of everything exterior that Newt could only wish he had too. He didn’t want to deal with this. He didn’t think he could stand under what the Marshall was going to say, all disappointed and “you failed me.” 

Well, fuck him and his blurry face. Newt was just going to ignore him and keep his face pressed against Tendo’s shoulder. Tendo huffed at him, but it didn’t manage to sound annoyed. Just kind of pained. A moment later, his hands pulled away from Newt’s back, and Newt mourned the loss. But then a thumb hooked under his chin and when Newt grudgingly lifted his head, his glasses were pressed back over his face. Oh. Wow, he really was blind as hell without them, and ow, suddenly he was feeling all kinds of eyestrain. 

He kind of knew that already, but Newt wasn’t thinking clearly. He was pretty sure. He felt so off balance, like he was still falling without end. But now that he could actually see things more than three inches in front of his face, the Marshall’s expression was worried. Probably. Not angry, though, because Newt had more than enough experience to recognize that expression on anybody. 

So Newt had to give in and really acknowledge that yes, his boss was here, but screw moving way from Tendo. The Marshall would have to deal. It was helping ease the shaking enough that Newt didn’t want to let go. 

“Hey. Uh. Marshall.” His voice wasn’t shaking and scratchy too much? Okay, no that was the worst lie. 

Marshall Pentecost had his hands clasped behind his back, and his voice was... gentler than usual. But still firm. “Dr. Geiszler, I need to know the source of the contamination.” 

And how likely it was that anyone else could have gotten the Blue. Newt could understand that; the Marshall was responsible for everyone in the ‘dome. Newt could do this. He could answer these concerns without freaking out. 

Or maybe he’d settle for croaking the words out in a reasonably understandable way. 

“It was the water originally in Hermann’s tank, because that bastard Marcus was breaking laws left and right.” Newt suddenly felt a new surge of fury, and it helped steady him. Steady his voice, anyway. “They passed god-damned statutes and guidelines regarding Kaiju Blue last year! Samples _have_ to always be labeled with contamination and threat levels. Water used for _any_ experiment or protocol, or any situation where it’s likely to come into human or animal contact has to be filtered, and if it isn’t, it has to be labeled too. There isn’t a single label or even a basic KBW strip on the tank _anywhere_. I checked! Or in the thirty words that pissant tried to pass off as a specimen descriptor.”

He had checked, he had, even if he had to go check again today just to make sure he hadn’t just overlooked it the first time. He hadn’t, and oh how he’d wanted to find that pretender to science and strangle him. It was gross negligence not to have even a single piece of the all-purpose Kaiju Blue Warning tape. Hell, even if it was technically legal to only have a little piece or two over the openings of a completely sealed container, and he didn’t blame the PPDC guys who gathered his specimens for not having the time or resources to test the levels, Newt always re-labeled with the correct details. And he made sure everything he had stored was fully and properly labeled too. And the lab, when the jokers didn’t steal his warning tape to put over his room later. Like waiting would make him forget they’d taken it or make them harder to track down. Stupid people... 

So yeah, while he screwed around with a lot of things, and maybe sometimes he was a tiny bit lax when he was really excited, or working with threat level zero specimens, he never intentionally exposed anyone to real danger. And if an accident ever happened, god forbid, he was fully ready with countermeasures. So bastard Marcus was either incredibly negligent, sloppy and _stupid_ , or he’d intentionally left off the warnings, well aware of the danger that posed to people who didn’t know. If Hermann had splashed _anyone_ before Newt had cleaned his tank the first time...

But thank god, he hadn’t, so Newt aside, the only one currently at any kind of risk-- “Tendo. Oh _god_ , you’re at risk. Because of _me_. Shit. Shit, shit, you have to go right--” 

He tried to pull away, horrified that he’d been ignoring Tendo’s safety for his own selfish comfort. It was such an early stage of infection that Tendo was probably safe, but probably wasn’t good enough, and that thought didn’t do anything for the gut-twisting guilt and panic threatening to drown him all of the sudden.

“I’ll take that risk while I still can, my man.” Tendo sounded downright fierce, and pulled Newt back in to card fingers through his hair. Tendo was abusing the hell out of that new knowledge to calm Newt down, and PDAs were usually not on the menu for either of them, but...he couldn’t complain.

And Tendo was apparently on the ball, not missing a beat while he continued talking. “Preliminary exam and the blood test was negative, and I’m going to be at medical’s mercy for a full work-up tomorrow.” 

Marshall Pentecost had been listening, quiet and calm, but decided to step in. Probably a good thing, before Newt did something stupid. He was not on his best level right now. No way. 

The Marshall’s voice was perfectly steady. “So yourself and Mr. Choi are the only ones significantly affected.” 

“Unless someone on the unloading dock got splashed, or someone snuck into my lab and got splashed before I got the tank cleaned out, yeah. Now, with the lesions showing Blue, his water will be a contamination risk again. Like--” Shit. “Like me.” 

“I will make sure the appropriate personnel are tested. And as for yourself, Dr. Geiszler--” The Marshall paused there, and fixed Newt with a very confusing look. 

Newt just didn’t know what to even begin making of it, because he knew what was coming and the look didn’t _fit_. He hated that he had screwed up, lost his chance to continue his work, and would soon be exiled to quarantine in medical until he-- Until the end. But Marshall Pentecost didn’t look like a man who was about to deliver news like that, unless Newt had him pegged so far wrong that his idea of the man and the man himself were on opposite sides of the universe. And he wasn’t _that_ bad at people. He thought. 

“It is unorthodox, but I am also aware of the unusual and dire nature of this situation. You will still need to be under quarantine for the duration, but we will all be better served by you staying in your lab.” 

Newt could only stare, not sure that he’d heard right. He had his lab? He was being allowed to keep his lab. It wasn’t much but, it... Wow. Scratch resentment; this was an admiration day. And way to stumble over his own tongue; good going, self. “Th--thanks. Um. Thank you. Sir.” 

Now the Marshall actually smiled. A small one, but still. “I won’t sign my best researcher’s death warrant. This is one time where we can’t afford to stick to the letter of the law. A few rules can bent for the greater good, and it turns out that your words have turned prophetic, Dr. Geiszler. I will need to know what you’ll need to research the cure.”

Oh, okay. He had said that, hadn’t he? He hadn’t really expected-- As much as almost everybody joked that he might as well become a medical doctor, it was so not his field. A lot of his research _did_ impact the field of medicine and that was awesome, but it only did once actual medical researchers got their hands on it to give it the right applications. And the expectation that he’d cure Kaiju Blue felt good and awful, and mostly just way, way too much.

“Time.” He could only croak that out at first, but what a stupid request. “Or a whole team of actually qualified researchers? I’m just a biologist, not a medical doctor.” 

Marshall Pentecost was still smiling. “On the contrary, Dr. Geiszler, I believe your particular incredible breadth and _depth_ of knowledge, especially where the Kaiju are concerned, makes you the most qualified to handle this particular obstacle. But, in deference to the medical community, I can offer you one very talented and qualified medical doctor, who is very interested in combining forces with K-Science to find the cure. Now, what else will you need?”

This was actually going to happen. He was going to save himself, or die trying. And the Marshall not only believed he _could_ but was way going out of his way to make it happen. The PPDC’s job was fighting Kaiju, and this wasn’t more than tangentially related to their function. Granted, if the PPDC hadn’t accepted his begging to join, he probably would have found some way to go straight into researching Kaiju Blue instead, so this wasn’t way out of left field for him or anything. Maybe-- Maybe he could actually do this. He could come back up swinging and be all ‘screw you, death, not today!’ He couldn’t _not_ try, because-- Because.

Newt just wished he didn’t feel like he was being crushed under everything. But he could put on his best grin, even if it didn’t feel like one, and focus on the excitement of new research. When he did this, it would save so many people. He’d be in the history books. Maybe not quite rockstar status, but close enough.

“We’re doing this! Okay. Um. First, I need the research that has already been done. All of it. Even that bastard Marcus’s. And not just the final reports, either. I need the raw data. Hell, slides and samples if anybody still has them. I can’t waste any time with methods that have already been tried. I can’t think of equipment I’ll need that I don’t already have, but the small stuff will save me from having to raid medical’s stores and pissing them off more. I’ll need all kinds of different supplies, but I have no idea what I’ll need just yet. I’ll have to put together a list later.”

At least his energy was picking up, but it didn’t feel like the good kind. It was the kind that was going to eat away at him and burn him up until nothing was left. But, energy was energy and he’d need to push himself harder than ever before.

Newt took a breath. “I’ll need a debridement and cauterization, too. I can use what they cut away for my first samples."

And here, he was going too far, but if he was doing this, if he _won_ , he wanted to send Hermann home, happy and healthy too. “And the same for Hermann. Another set of samples will be invaluable, and like hell am I going to leave him to suffer when I’m working on a cure for him too.”

Marshall Pentecost looked like he was about to say something, and then just pursed his mouth a little and glanced towards Hermann’s tank. 

“I’m gonna say it again. Biologist, not a medical doctor!” He hated having to defend himself when he knew he was right, but he was determined to do this. “Hermann is actually in my field, and I’m really not. Besides, more samples is a way better state of things, and I really don’t want to have to infect test subjects unless there is no other choice. Also, Hermann’s species is brand new to science and probably really rare. We should do everything we can for him. And how the Blue reacts to his systems might be just the breakthrough we need!” 

Tendo chuckled, but it didn’t sound quite right. “Or, short version, you got attached, like one of those ladies that takes in strays and ends up with a house full of cats, because she just can’t turn the poor dears out into the cold to starve.” 

“Shut up.” That was so not a fair comparison, even if maybe it was a little right. Sort of. “Not backing down on this, either of you.” 

“If you can assure the safety of my medical staff, I will agree to it.” The Marshall looked like he wouldn’t back down either.

Newt didn’t blame him. But he had a plan that hopefully wouldn’t hurt Hermann. “I can do that. I don’t want to put him under anesthesia completely, because I’m worried he’ll switch to the gills and suffocate--I think they’re the primary respiratory system. But! With a milder combination of sedatives, some local anesthetics, and stronger pain killers, we should be able to get him nice and sleepy and relaxed enough to be handled. If he still struggles, we can restrain him a little, but I think he’ll be okay with just that. Especially since we’ll do me first, so he can see.”

So, maybe banking on Hermann being able to understand at least a little bit what was happening, and that Newt wouldn’t hurt him, was stupid. But Hermann had shown the ability to mimic, already, and he’d finally accepted the aspirin after watching Newt take it. It had been kind of a last ditch thing, and he’d had a headache, so he’d been surprised as hell. And then there had been the thing with the chains. Hermann had been able to make the jump after watching him pull out the grate. That was something more like corvids, and meant Hermann was _smart_. Hopefully, he had a good memory, and would be able to figure that Newt wouldn’t go through something unpleasant without a good reason, and that it wasn’t a bad process. And, this idea was all Newt had, short of general anesthesia and restraints, and the first seemed too risky, while the second would be like putting him through the trauma that bastard Marcus had again.

“Newt--” Tendo did not sound like he approved of this plan, at all. 

“I know, I know. It’s a little risky. But you can stay and stop me if it looks like I’m doing something really stupid?” Actually, in the middle of that he realized that he desperately wanted Tendo there. Newt wished he could kiss Tendo, or just crawl inside him--metaphorically, anyway--and had to settle for just pressing closer and burying his face in Tendo’s shoulder again. 

The Marshall would probably hear anyway, but Newt tried to keep his request quiet. “I want you there anyway. If you’re willing to risk--”

“You didn’t even have to ask.” He would feel pressure on his head, and around his waist, then the faint vibration of Tendo’s voice. “I’ll watch over things with your creature too, so I can call for backup, just in case.” 

“I’ll inform medical of these developments.” Marshall Pentecost sounded a little unhappy, but just turned smartly on his heel. “I’ll leave you to do what you need to do, gentlemen.” 

“Have somebody drop off the sedatives ahead of time! Oral is best, because there will be enough injections for both of us for the local anesthetics.” Newt called out, before he even registered the rest of the statement and... oh.

Say goodbye, was what the Marshall wasn’t saying, and Newt swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat. So he changed the subject. “I should make a list of my stuff for you to get.”

“I think I can manage,” was all Tendo said in return, and a moment later he pulled back just enough to tug Newt towards his chair. Tendo looked exhausted and harried, which made Newt feel just _awful_ , but he didn’t know how to start apologizing for it. 

So he just stayed quiet, and when he ended up in Tendo’s lap, he just wrapped his arms around Tendo’s shoulders and tried to memorize every little sensation of this moment. 

**Day 4, ???**

At first, he’d worried that his monster would get her mate to sing her to the final sleep and leave him behind to suffer and die alone. Then she screamed a broken stretch of song at her mate to chase him from the cave, and he just worried. He watched her wander lost around the cave, getting up again and again from the perch but never managing to do anything. Each time, she would just stop and stand still--or stand shaking--for a time before returning to the perch. 

During that time, she made no attempt to fix her false skins, and kept on bumping into things as if she couldn’t see them at all. As he watched, he felt like he was shaking with her each time, mourning with her, and he wished only that she could understand his song. Or he, hers.

Then finally, she had done _something_. He couldn’t guess why she searched over the entire shell, even beneath it, with eyes and paws, but she didn’t look so lost for a while. She had looked like a fierce hunter, wild-eyed and aggressive, but after she had all but attacked the wall of the cave, she had come back to the shell and squinted at a patch of rotting blue on his forelimb for far too long. Then she had broken out into a series of soft, choked wails while water streamed from her eyes. With her weight against the shell, all he could do was press close from the other side and know that there was no way for it to provide real comfort.

After that, she had returned to her perch and stayed there until her mate had returned. And he’d _ached_ , watching her mate put the missing false paws on her so tenderly, and straighten her false skins. It was a relief that the large male had interrupted them. 

Her mate had stayed close to her the whole time while they sang back and forth at each other. He thought that the large male must be respecting their bond, because the whole time he could have easily moved so that there was nothing between her and him, to show her vulnerability and his power, but he didn’t. Instead, the large male stayed to the side, so that her mate was mostly between them. 

So the large male didn’t seem like a bad monster, he decided. The other two brightened a little, and even looked more alert in his presence. But, if only he could understand their singing, because for all he know, the large male could be a pretender to mystical powers and claiming he could save her. For a price. There was always a terrible price, and outside of stories for children, never a result.

That was probably not the case, but he still wished that he could know for sure, as he watched the large male leave. His monster and her mate only curled together, forelimbs around each other, and with his nose in her fur, and her nose pressed against his throat.

There was no wailing, no shaking, but grief and death still circled around them like a hunting shark. Oh, the empty ache that overtook him again, watching them cling to each other. He missed his mate, and her touch. Her company had been the current to guide his swimming, and he’d never been so lost.

It hurt. It _hurt_ and all he wanted was his mate. Or even just the touch of a person. Even if it was a monster. 

He nearly shook with the need to feel even a little bit not alone. If not for the shell, he would be over there with them, feeling the warmth of his monster against him again. He even wanted for a moment the touch of her mate too, to feel them both against and around him. She would not deny him, at least. She _couldn’t_. 

Too late, he realized he’d sung out his need, and he watched her lift her head, slowly and reluctantly pull away from her mate, and come towards the shell. He put his paws against the shell, and she mirrored the action, her face scrunched up and water gathering in the corners of her eyes again. 

Her mate came up behind her, and showed less expression, but right now he didn’t care. He moaned his pain and want at them, not even bothering with words. He pressed against the shell, feeling frantic and not at all his usual self. 

Her singing was moving suddenly and he watched her climb up to the rim of the shell. And stop. 

Her mate was protesting; it could be nothing else. She was listening, frozen mid-movement. No. _No_.

But then she grabbed his forelimb in her paw and pulled him up. Her song rose at the end, and he wasn’t sure what that meant, or what the flat sound her mate made in return was. 

She blew out a sharp breath at him, and moved very slowly, pulling the cords out from just one of the white claws. There would be enough room for her to put her paw in, but nothing else, without moving the rest. With each movement, she glanced back at her mate, but though he was tense and his mouth turned down, her mate didn’t stop her or voice protest again. 

He would need to be careful if he wanted to fulfill this. Her mate could so easily pull her away, so close and watching like this. So he held down the need to rush up, pull aside the rest of the cords--because it was so easy to move them, even from inside the shell-- and touch all of her he could. 

It worked, barely, and maybe the force of his head coming into contact with her paw bumped it back, but he kept his teeth carefully hidden, and then her clever digits gently brushed along scales and fur, trailing along the side of his muzzle and neck. It was not much like the touch of a person, who would have rubbed jaw and neck against his, but it felt good, all the same. He wanted more, needed more--

She sang something at her mate then and pulled back more of the cords. It was enough to bring all of his neck out, so he did, bracing his forepaws against the edge.

The corners of her mouth were turned up, and she placed her paw gently atop one of his, the way he had done for her. Just that soothed something inside, and the need was still there--screaming for more, more, _more_ \--but it wasn’t quite so overwhelming. 

Her mate was watching all of this, glancing from her to him, but then she sang out something. He shook his head side to side. 

Then she pulled her paw away from where it had been trailing up and down right under the side of his jaw, and grabbed at her mate’s paw. 

Her mate sang something and she sang back. 

He just felt loss so keenly that it almost hurt. “Don’t stop, please.” 

To be reduced to begging for scraps of touch--

But she must have been trying to get her mate to help her, and he didn’t resist as she tugged his larger--longer mostly, but a little wider--paw over the shell. 

He was tempted to bite her mate’s paw, but the want won, so he tipped his head, and his right tendril contacted both of their paws at once. It was nearly overwhelming and the life-currents sang to him like the song of the people. Not alone. Not alone!

He realized he was trembling and crooning. It was terribly embarrassing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. For this moment, nothing else mattered but the comfort from a touch that didn’t hurt.

Memories were swimming like sharks in the back of his head and he tried to push them away, not wanting to be pulled away from this so soon. 

Her mate crooned back, though it was hard to say who he was crooning at, and moved his paw to stroke over the base of his glow-horn. It hurt a little, still sore from--

\--something buzzing and sharp digging into his glow-horn--

\--tearing, twisting pressure against the glow-horn, as one of the monsters tried to tear it off--

\--claws jabbed into his head, the horn, and they would not stop when he screamed as the sensitive horn-root was breached--

He cried out and had to flee to the bottom of the shell. Immediately the loss of touch washed over him and he mourned that too, but he was shaking too much to return to the surface, no matter how much he wanted to. 

His monster sang out softly several times, and he guessed that she was asking if he wanted to come back. Or maybe what had scared him so. He wasn’t sure he could tell her, even if she understood the song of the people. So he stayed where he was, feeling pulled in two different directions so hard that he was sure he’d tear in two. 

Her mate sang out something to her then, and she twisted awkwardly to wrap her forelimbs around him briefly in return before they both climbed down. They sang back and forth for a moment more and then she went off to do... well, she was moving things around, but to no purpose he could see. 

Her mate, though, stayed still and watched the tank. He did not know what her mate wanted, and held still as the memories slowly, slowly faded to something bearable. Then her mate did something he never would have expected. 

The monster stepped forward and put his paw against the shell, still looking on with that same expression. He didn’t know what to do, but he still ached for the comfort of touch, so he placed his paw against the cold shell too. 

When he did he saw... strings of beads, wrapped around the paw and forelimb. Those kinds of things were rare and very valuable among the people. It took a very long time for an artisan to carve and grind shells and bone down into the right shapes and such artisans with skill enough were not many. It was much easier just to put holes through whole shells to make measures, but there were those who had their measures made entirely of beads to show off their wealth or their pride in their skill.

But a measure, made of beads... It didn’t look like a complicated set, but it was still a measure. He felt another want, suddenly, wishing for a set of measures. Beads or shells or-- It didn’t matter. 

And he felt, maybe, that this monster, his monster’s mate, couldn’t be so terrible if he was a measurer of the world too. 

Her mate sang something, touching the measure. 

“Where did you get that?” He knew there would be no answer, but he asked anyway, pressing his other paw against the shell, as close to the measure as he could get.

Her mate just sang again, but didn’t move for a while, until his monster called to him from somewhere else in the cave. 

He watched them cling together for a few moments, then her mate left. And her relative cheer crumpled as soon as the cave was sealed shut behind. 

For a long time she just stayed on her perch, bent in half at her hips and head resting on her forelimbs awkwardly. 

He sang to her several times, trying to get her attention, but for the first time, she ignored him. Even when he sang as loudly as he could and called her all kinds of stupid that he could come up with.

But then, the end had to be coming soon. The monsters obviously knew about the poison. Perhaps all this was her final preparation for being sung to sleep. He could understand that, because every time he thought about it, it was all he could do not to cry out in mourning. 

He just hoped she would not forget him. To be left to suffer was one thing, but to be left to suffer while she was sung to rest--to be left alone without even the scant comfort her presence gave--was a pain worse than any physical hurt he was suffering now. 

The pain had gone sharp and intense again. If he was right, she was doing something to ease it, but what? Whatever it was, it only lasted so long before the pain came back. Even though the end was coming he wanted to ask her to do it again, because better to go to the final rest comfortably. 

He was pondering that when her mate finally returned, carrying several objects. Some of them were obviously false-skins, but the others he couldn’t guess. Was she going to be sent to sleep with her possessions? Well, it was a comfort to be surrounded by familiar things. Oh, how he wished he hadn’t left his set of measures behind. 

He watched, feeling distant and alone, as her mate helped her arrange the things, and then set up... something. It was flat and low to the floor of cave, held up by not-stone legs that looked too thin to hold it up, but given how strong the not-stone was, probably weren’t. Piled on it was something soft, that squished and could be bent and curled. And then on top of that more things, clearly the same as the false-skins--

Oh. It was a little like the nests of seaweed that his mate wove to make them more comfortable. Used to weave. He missed her horribly, but didn’t understand why this was happening. Would she be sung to the final rest on this nest? Or was something completely different happening?

It was the latter, he decided a few moments later, when other monsters arrived with some small items to give to his monster, and then they stretched a flexible shell across the entrance to the cave. It was clear, allowing them to look in, or look out, when the cave wasn’t closed up entirely, but it still blocked off the entrance and it looked difficult and unwieldy to move, especially from within.

His heart clenched and he felt ill. The monsters weren’t going to show even one of their own mercy. They were locking her up in her own cave, and they would be left to die.

Why wasn’t she fighting it? Oh, no wonder why she was so upset. Would her mate be allowed to remain with her? Or, no, that might end with him dead too, so they would be parted, and likely soon. How she clung to him suddenly made more sense. 

Just, why not do things more quickly?

His agitation made him need to move, and he swam in circles until apparently he got her attention. She came over to him and sang soothingly, but there was something off in her song, and thinking about everything just made it all worse. He moaned in his upset, and she went away, only to come back with a single piece of fish shortly later. 

It had white things in it, but more than just one this time. It hadn’t hurt him the last time, and even though the number made questions rise in his head, he took it and ate without complaint. The bitterness certainly hadn’t changed with the number.

And while he shook his head at the taste, his thoughts swam back towards the pressing issue. 

It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t understand, he just had to sing something about it to her. So he pushed his head and neck past the cords and drew air deep into his lungs. 

“I don’t understand why you’re letting this happen! You’re a healer, for Moon-mother’s sake, and you should know better than any of them how this will end! Why let yourself be caged to die slowly? What could make you want that suffering, just for a little more... time.” 

Yet as he sang that out, a possible answer came. She was healthy aside from the poison, probably, and mated. It was hard to tell fertility from looking, and he had no idea how a monster’s scent changed during her fertility and then pregnancy. He had no way of knowing, but she would. And if she was... 

By the currents, he’d wished it on her. He’d wished the death of her child while still within her body on her, and he hadn’t seen a pouch, so monsters were probably like whales and kept their children inside far longer than the people did. If she was, would the time left even be long enough? If she was, would the child escape poisoning? 

He wanted to curl up on himself in abject shame. But he couldn’t because, at the least, he needed to apologize for singing those curses. 

“I much apologize. I didn’t mean those things. I was angry and-- I don’t wish such a fate on you, truly. By the currents, if it’s true-- My condolences, my monster. I--” 

She had her paws on his jaw, suddenly, making soft sounds, and then she sang soft words at him. Again, he wished he knew the meaning. Her mate was near, but he was simply watching and not protesting in the least. 

It felt pleasant, and he closed his eyes to let her song and her touch wash over him. The song actually stopped after a few moments, which already felt strange, even in the short time he’d been near her, but her paws stayed. 

It was nice. It felt like forgiveness, even if she was completely unaware of what he’d wished on her and those terrible thoughts. It felt good to have it out and to apologize though. He could go cleanly, if he could go at all. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know _why_. Suspicions were not enough.

It felt like trying to measure in the darkest deep, with no light to confirm his measures and only guesswork. It was possible, but not necessarily true. There were so many things that were possible, but might not be true, and he had no way of judging truth from lies among these monsters. 

It was all so upsetting, and he couldn’t stand her touch suddenly so he fled to the bottom of the shell and curled, wishing his thoughts would slow. 

She stayed there for a few moments, but then more monsters came into the cave. They were dressed strangely, with their paws and faces covered in false skins. Behind the first two came more, pushing moving platforms. He couldn’t see what was on them, because they were covered with more of the material of the false-skins. Probably. 

His monster went towards them and they sang back and forth, as one of them washed down one of her platforms. He could see it all now, because she moved what she’d blocked the area with near the nest. What were they doing? 

He grew more confused as the strangers gave her something to swallow, and then she started stripping out of the false-skins, right in front of them. 

One of the strangers sang something on seeing her, and her mate snapped something back, sharp and short, to make the stranger flinch.

Her mouth was turned down, and that was a sure sign of unhappiness, he was positive of that now. Then she looked right at his shell and turned her mouth up and sang at him. It was like she was trying to seem happy for him. 

What _was_ happening? 

When she was all but completely bare, the strangers made motions towards the platform and she got onto it. Then they took claws out from--

 _Now_? They were singing her to the final rest after all?

He cried out in spite of himself, and his monster and her mate both looked, but then one of the strangers grabbed her jaw to stretch her neck out. He bared his teeth at that. How rude. 

Her mate came forward with the moving perch and settled, reaching his paws out towards her, which she grabbed in hers. The strangers protested that too, but eventually subsided when her mate agreed to put the stretch of false-skin over his face. 

He watched helpless and afraid as they jabbed tiny claws into her neck, right around where the scratches were. They washed it down with something that stained her skin and then...

Waited. Not for long, but they were obviously waiting for something. She slurred a song at them finally, sounding strange, and finally they moved. He wished immediately that they hadn’t 

They were _cutting_ her. Not the single long cut along the vein in the throat that would have her bleeding quickly into a quiet death, but small ones, right around where the rotting blue was. 

Oh. They were cutting the rot away. Would that help? Would that heal? Were these other healers come to try to save her? It seemed likely. He had no idea if this was actual healing or just healer superstition, but it seemed like they wouldn’t be singing her to sleep.

Then they did something that made a horrible acrid smell fill the air. It was bad enough that he ducked under the water. 

When they were done, they made her move, and she looked half asleep when she complied. The process, including the small claws and whatever made that smell, was repeated for every spot of rot on her, then they put the same white things over her wounds as she had. 

But more neatly. Perhaps she was just an apprentice, and these were the elder healers? 

He probably would have spent more time considering that, working out the measures of the theory, but she got up. She swayed a little when she tried, and kept shaking her head and blinking rapidly. Watching her made him feel tired too, or maybe he’d been feeling it already. It was so hard to say. 

When she tried to move towards the shell, her mate pulled her down instead, much to her displeasure. But her protest was slurred out, and she only tried to get back up once before curling against him and apparently falling asleep.

While she rested, the strangers started washing everything down again, including the other platform. The larger one... Were these strangers going to cute the rot out of him too?

It was not a bad thing. Knowing that he was being treated as they treated one of their own and would not be left to rot was... something positive. It was probably his monster’s doing instead of kindness of the monsters as a whole, but even just her consideration helped. What was not good, however, was that this kindness might--probably would, if the mourning songs of healers was not exaggerated--only prolong and worsen their suffering. 

And that even thinking about being on a not-stone platform, so near monsters and their claws, had his heart racing unsteadily and memories screaming for his attention. He didn’t know if he could do this. He closed his eyes against the sight and tried to focus on other things. Happier thoughts...

His monster’s voice dragged him out of the thick fog that felt like he’d been dozing, but also like he hadn’t slept for a quarter moon. All of him felt heavy, like he had stone in place of bone and flesh, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. 

She still looked sleepy, but at least more alert than before, and had put her false-skins back in place. The not-stone cover was gone, and she had stretched what looked like more false-skin between claws, so that a loop of it hung into the water. He could see her intent right away. The false-skin would be much gentler against his belly than any kind of cord, and she would be able to lift him out of the shell and move him right over to the waiting strangers.

There was fear, but it seemed unable to catch him in the haze that made everything so soft and distant, and tried to lure him again to sleep. Even the pain, ever a constant and unpleasant companion before now, had gone so soft it was hardly there at all. His monster’s ministration had not made it so faint before and he couldn’t get his thoughts to focus on that puzzle. They drifted away, like little shells caught in the tides in the shallows. Even with that frustration, though, he felt better than he had in...a very long time. And if he was out of the shell, he could show his appreciation properly, couldn’t he?

So he swam forward, letting the false-skin settle and loop around him. It hardly touched him at first, and she spent some time fussing over it before calling out. To her mate, who had something in his paws. He was wondering what the object was when suddenly there was pressure and he started to rise. It wasn’t horribly uncomfortable, though it did feel strange, and in a moment later he was out of the shell and dripping water all over the floor. 

She was standing at his head almost as soon as he was set down against the not-stone platform. His leg sent out a distant twinge of pain, but it was lost as she sang at him. He could do this, he could. 

But he couldn’t remember the formal words of thanks suddenly, so he just rubbed the side of his jaw against hers, then her neck, until the front of his throat touched her shoulder. That made things a little intimate, but it wasn’t like he’d nuzzled the underside of her jaw, or rubbed the front of his throat against hers, so it was fine. It was nice; he’d wanted to do this since she’d removed that vile not-stone thing from the shell. He would have done more too, but his body still felt too heavy to move so he made due.

And she had gone tense at first, but then she made that sound that sounded like joy. He felt her paws, gentle and friendly, rubbing down the sides of his neck. Her singing at him was soft and steady, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open in response. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep on her; that might be a little _too_ intimate, even if her mate was willing to tolerate this, which was more than just friendly and edging towards maybe like groupmates might be. He was being tolerant though, having come over just a moment ago and just watching. 

He almost wished her mate was closer, in that moment. It might be even more pleasant and soothing to have both of them, and for some reason he didn’t stop the thought from coming out. 

“Here. Come-- I-- Oh Moon-mother!” 

He shook his head a little, embarrassed both that he couldn’t get the words out and that he’d even made an attempt at such a brazen request. His monster just cooed at him, there was no other way to describe it. He couldn’t voice words reliably, but he could croon back. 

There was a flash of discomfort in his paw, come and gone before it even really registered, and then another. It was like gripping a spiny shell too tightly, and easily ignored when he focused on his monster’s crooning. 

The scent that followed wasn’t so dismissed. It was acrid and vile, and there was no escaping it. He barked out an exclamation of disgust and surprise and reared back, but no avail. Then his monster moved forward, until they were all but touching, and stroked her paws along his jaw. There was a feeling of pressure in places, but it didn’t hurt, he realized. Just, augh, the smell. 

He needed something, anything, to clear his nose of it. But he had something, right there, close and obvious. He ignored the squawking sound his monster made as he buried his nose in her wild fur.

Her fur held her soft, pleasant scent nicely, along with a new similar one that he realized must belong to her mate. Everything felt like it was coming to him so slowly now, but he couldn’t bring himself to be more than mildly irritated by that fact. That scent wasn’t as unpleasant as he would have expected of a male, and it complimented hers in a very... in a way. Maybe all monsters had such pleasant scents; he hadn’t smelled enough of them to really know. 

He breathed in deeply again, enjoying how her scent overwhelmed and washed away the other, awful one-- But, her scent wasn’t the same. Under the pleasantness was something else. Fear, pain, sickness. 

Oh. _Oh_. He ached for her, for himself, for the bleak future they now shared. She was still trying to seem happy, and focus on him in spite of her pain and fear. He didn’t know how she could do it. 

He wished he could offer comfort, but how? He huffed out a complaint to himself, feeling that vague frustration again. How to give comfort to someone being dragged to death, especially when he’d never been good at it in the first place? 

She was even so obviously upset that she hadn’t taken the time to groom her fur. Or maybe she was just lazy about that, because he didn’t remember her fur ever looking as neat and well-groomed as her mate’s. Or any of the other monster’s that he’d paid attention to. Disgraceful. 

But something he could help with, and a good grooming was always soothing. 

She squawked again, voicing something high that was probably a protest, but she didn’t pull away. It was probably only a child’s sulky protest of ‘you’re embarrassing me’ or something like that anyway. Her fur tasted mostly like it smelled, and the faint intrusions of pain seemed like they were coming from even further away as he devoted himself to his new appointed task. It kept him from giving into the urge to doze too, which was something that never went smoothly out of water when he was so very, very tired as he felt now. 

And her mate was looking on with an upturned mouth, visible again but he couldn’t think why it wouldn’t be, singing out with what might be... amusement, maybe? She sang in return, and her voice reminded him even more strongly of a sulky child. 

But her fur was not very obedient at all, and he suspected he was really just making things worse. It felt like something almost normal and he clung to it anyway, and her squirming helped lift the hanging sadness that hung around him and kept trying to drag him down. 

Then her complaints started going soft and slurred, and she swayed with her weight coming forward against him for a moment. Her mate was up from his perch right away, forelimbs coming around to steady her.

Something inside throbbed and he wanted to bare his teeth in threat. The realization of what it was came as the momentary feeling faded. Jealousy. 

Then her mate lifted his paw ever so carefully to brush against one of his tendrils. The feel of another life-current so close and meaning no harm made his insides go soft and flutter with relief. This male was not odious or hostile towards him, even while he was pressed so close to his mate. Protective, perhaps, but what mate wouldn’t be? 

Was this what being part of a group could be like? Surrounded by friendly, caring faces, with more than just himself or his mate to rely on for everything, anything. If so, more the fool he for never choosing this path. If he ever returned to the sea...

But he might not, probably never would, return so he would just drag every moment of comfort out of these stolen moments, like picking the meat from a crab’s shell. 

Oh, how he wished she was a person though. That both of these monsters were. They could stretch out, full lengths against each other, and twine their tails together. Let the rhythms of lungs or gills fall into harmony, and that sharing soothe their thoughts. It just wasn't the same with their strange and small monster bodies. 

A silly, childish thought floated to the surface of his mind all at once, and he had to laugh. He _could_ pray to Moon-mother, he supposed, and beg her to change them into people for him, like in the story. It had been his favorite version of the ending as a child, though his siblings had preferred different ones. But he might as well beg her to cure the poison too, for all the good it would do. Moon-mother was too busy watching over the whole of the sea, guiding every current and tide, to spare the time to grant the wish of one mere mortal. 

But thinking about it made the story itself rush to the surface. He could recite his childhood favorite version word for word, but the basics of every version was the same. Memories of different tellings floated around in a mess inside his head, and he tried to string them together in an order that made sense.

The tellings always started with mother calling them together and rubbing her jaw against each of her children. And then the story always started with a description of the pure one, a monster born so innocent and gentle that the monsters were mystified. The pure one had the heart of a person, and a healer’s compassion, inside a form so beautiful that it captivated those who looked, which made the other monsters crave to twist that into something dark and vile like themselves. So time and again they tried to corrupt the pure one, and each time they would fail. Then eventually they chased the pure one to the edge of the sea with murder on their minds. Despairing, and deciding that the sea would be a kinder death, the pure one jumped in. 

And here would be the point where little brother, still called little sibling then and just a bit too big to curl comfortably in either mother or father’s pouches, and so curling against him instead, would always interrupt with questions. Why didn’t the pure one fight back? How could a monster be beautiful? Weren’t monsters ugly because they were monsters? And so on. 

Sister, reclining against mother’s side like the adult she was so close to being, instead of between mother’s forelegs like a child the way he and little brother still did, would snipe back that whales and fish could be beautiful, so why not a monster? Sometimes they argued, but mother usually shushed them and continued the story. 

The next part was about the artisan, who’s work was so beautiful and glorious that he wanted for nothing. He had a group and children, plenty of food, and plenty of wealth. But he felt restless all the same, as if something was missing. And that day he was swimming in the shallows, and came upon the pure one, sinking and drowning. He felt pity, even for a monster, so he dragged the pure one back to the beaches. But to his surprise, when he tried to return, the pure one put up a racket, wailing in a clear, lovely voice, and trying to follow him back into the sea. It was impossible, of course, for monsters could not swim, and eventually he was able to ignore the cries and swim away back to his group and children. 

Then, a vile witch, who had been watching all of what was happening with an evil laugh, appeared and offered the pure one a deal. The witch would make a spell, and give the pure one a chance to swim freely in the sea, but for a price. First, the pure one would need to give up all beauty and grace to the witch as payment. Second, the spell was not permanent. It would last for only seven full moons, unless the pure one found a place of love and acceptance, a true home, with the denizens of the sea. If not, the pure one would be changed back, and the witch would own the pure one’s heart, and be able to command the body as a slave to the witch’s every bidding. 

When he was very small, little brother not yet born, he always cried and hid in mother’s pouch at the mention of the witch, taking courage and safety from the warmth and her scent. Sister always called him names, but mother would just laugh, flex the pouch, and ask if he wanted to continue. The answer was always yes, and as she continued singing he would slowly creep back out to curl between her forelegs with sister. 

The story continued with the pure one not hesitating a moment to accept the offer, fully trusting that the witch would not lie or play tricks. So the pure one was painfully transformed by the spell, and changed into a twisted, misshapen thing that was uncountably vile to behold, while the witch was changed by that beauty and grace into a monster so glorious that other monsters clamored for even a moment of looking upon the witch. 

But the pure one was perfectly happy with the deal, and even the ugly form, because this body could swim like one born to the sea, and that was enough. So the pure one swam, and found the artisan and his group. Overjoyed, the pure one tried to come close and thank the artisan, but his group bared their teeth and scattered at the ugly thing. The artisan, however, found something familiar in the strange sight, and stayed. And through trial and error, realized that this was somehow the monster he had saved, having found a way to follow him into the sea. So against the protests of his group, which were many and loud, he decided to keep the pure one, like children sometimes would keep an orphaned otter or seal pup. So the pure one stayed, not caring that the group was distant and hateful so long as the artisan was kind, and learning to hunt and sing the songs of the people. The pure one did everything to repay that kindness, and one day the artisan’s youngest child was badly hurt. The pure one saved and healed the child, and then the artisan’s group realized that the ugliness hid a healer of great skill, and finally welcomed the pure one openly. 

The pure one was unbelievably happy to have found a home, and passed the rest of the seven full moons in a dream of joy. But then, as the last full moon set, a slender and wriggling cord, as cold and black as the darkest deep appeared and chased without tiring until the pure one was ensnared, the cord cutting tight into limbs and throat.

The time for stories was usually when father was hunting, but he would sit and listen with tail twined with mother’s sometimes. And at that part he would grimace and pull away, then mother would pause the tale to go rub against the discolored fur and mangled scales of his own encounter with a monster’s tangle-trap. 

When the story resumed, up and up the pure one was dragged, and up the artisan followed. Because the pure one was part of his group, and he protected them all. What he saw on the surface was a small floating cave made from trees that lined the shore, and in it, the vile witch. The witch was gleefully recounting to the pure one that the deal had all been a lie, and the artisan understood, because the pure one had taught him to understand the monsters for his own safety. The real price of the spell had always been the pure one’s heart and freedom. Unless, of course, the pure one could turn over another heart in exchange. The pure one refused, of course, and would not think of betraying the group and family that the pure one had come to love. 

That was where the versions when on separate currents, and he and sister would do battle over which mother would tell. If puffing up their chests and lashing their tails in the water counted as doing battle. Mother always intervened, putting aside her beautiful creations and grooming them both until they were soothed and then picking the version that she hadn’t told the last time. 

In his favorite version, the artisan burst out of the sea and caught the witch by surprise. With the witch’s death, the spell was broken and the pure one was restored to the body of a perfectly beautiful monster, but trapped out of the sea. 

The pure one despaired of being separated from the artisan and his group most of all, and wailed in mourning, but the artisan pulled the floating cave to a small island no monster would ever seek out, and presented the pure one with an elaborate courting gift he had been making in secret. He sang to the pure one that he did not care about the monster’s form, or that as a monster, the pure one could never again join him in the sea. He had fallen in love with the pure one’s heart, when he’d never thought to love again after the death of his first mate in a storm. 

The pure one, touched by the gesture and just as deeply in love, accepted his courting and made a home on that island, while the artisan visited as often as he could. And every night they both prayed to the Moon-mother, asking that the pure one could return to the sea. The Moon-mother heard their prayers and was touched by the devotion, so she reached down, and one morning the pure one awoke as a person instead of a monster. Just as gloriously beautiful, and now a perfect image of female grace. When the artisan arrived for his visit, he was overjoyed and they swam into the sea together, singing Moon-mother’s praises. Together, they lived happily for the rest of their lives, along with the artisan’s group and children, and the pure one added many more children to that number while becoming the healer lauded as best in the whole sea. 

He would always swim in happy circles when mother finished and sister and little brother would call him silly and childish, even when he limited it to just one circle. But he never cared, at least not right at that moment. Who cared that it was a version only for the youngest of children? It had a happy ending, the way life so seldom did in father’s teachings and stories. Even when he’d learned that he must be stern and strong to win a mate’s attention--but that hadn’t ever worked, had it?--and that even his siblings would disappoint, he had kept his secret love of happy endings.

Thinking about it made him wistful, but his sister’s taunts still rose up, and they had always stung, no matter how well he could hide the hurt. She, of course, had preferred the “adult” version, that was as she called it, the “perfect tragic romance.” Why, he couldn’t begin to guess. Siblings, who could understand them? 

But in her favorite version, he remembered, the witch was ready when the artisan burst out of the sea, and both were gravely injured and dying when the fight was over. The witch just cackled and revealed that the pure one’s heart would heal any wound and bestow even longer life as it did, if only one had the courage to tear that heart right from the pure one’s chest. The witch even offered to let the artisan try first, but he was disgusted and refused. He would not betray the one he loved, even if it cost him his life. 

The witch called him a fool, and made to cut that heart out, but the pure one struggled so that the claws missed, and begged the artisan to sing them both to the final rest together. Both to make sure the witch died, and because the pure one didn’t wish to live in a world without the artisan. 

So the artisan used the last of his strength to slice open the vein in the pure one’s throat and spent his last moments singing as they died together, and the witch’s rage at being foiled and outwitted made the vile creature burst. 

Then Moon-mother looked down and saw what had happened, and to memorialize their love and sacrifice, transformed them into currents, where they followed Moon-mother loyally ever since. 

That had never seemed like a fair reward to him, as much as his sister enjoyed it. And of course, little brother didn’t like that version any more than little brother liked his favorite. So it wasn’t a surprise when little brother, starting to show his growth into an adult, came home from exploring with another version, that was far more “mature” than either of the “childish” versions mother told them. 

Mother had caught them, at the end of the telling, and maybe he had gloated a little in telling mother exactly what little brother had been singing about, which got little brother switched on the tail and denied dinner for his crudeness. Of course, for his gloating, he’d been switched too like the child he certainly no longer was, but it was worth it. 

But the version of the tale had stuck in his memories for a long time after. Much like his own favorite, the artisan killed the witch and the pure one was transformed back into a beautiful monster. But unlike his favorite, instead of courting the pure one, the artisan decided that the beautiful monster was pleasing enough in form, and that the pure one could also reach places on land that he could not. So he made a bargain with the pure one, like any harem keeper. In exchange for gathering his favorite treat of seabird eggs during the right season, and for being available for mating whenever he wished, he would protect, feed, and otherwise make sure the pure one was cared for. 

The tale didn’t mention how the pure one felt about that offer, and he had always assumed disheartened, but only that the pure one had accepted it to become the artisan’s third harem-bond. And what had followed... Well, he was certain that little brother’s reprimand had been for the lurid descriptions of definitely exaggerated and probably impossible mating acts that followed, one after another, and each more... more than the last. Lewdness aside, the important fact was that with each mating, the pure one became less of a monster, and was eventually transformed fully into a gloriously beautiful person. And of course, increasing with her first child by the artisan, as was the usual bargain kept by harem-bonds. 

That had been where the version little brother had sang ended, or maybe there had been more even then and he hadn’t heard because they had been caught by mother, but later he’d heard another, longer telling of that version. A more pleasing one, if only very slightly. In that longer version, after serving and bearing, the pure one learned everything of healing on the sly, and soon was a lauded healer who needed no harem-bond for support or safety. So she broke it, and swam away to be mated to a humble measurer instead. A fact that he’d enjoyed for... obvious reasons. Foolish, but obvious.

But, even the transformation in that story was just a fantasy, and he’d had to admit long ago, all versions of the tale were completely impossible. His favorite, most of all. In fact, the least impossible was probably little brother’s version, as much as it galled to admit, and lurid mating acts aside. 

It was a shame, because he wanted so badly to see his monster transformed, and cavorting in the waves instead of a cave and--

He startled at a particularly loud sound from his monster, and with a dry ache in his gill inlets. Oh, he’d drifted while lost in musings of silly stories and let his gills take over on accident. He closed them up again and took a deep breath. Her scent washed over him again, and the wish that had started his swim into memory clawed at him again. 

If only she _could_ be transformed into a person. The first requirement was met. She was proving again and again that she had the heart of a person, or close enough. The people weren’t exactly all pure-hearted either. But Moon-mother’s interference aside, it was just as ridiculous to imagine that mating, even as many times and as many lewd ways as in the story, could cause a transformation so great and complete. It went against the measures completely. 

She looked too small to fit anyway, and he doubted her mate would be so tolerant of _that_. And would surely object to being mated himself, to be transformed with her. He wasn’t so cruel like a harem keeper to separate _mates_. 

Utterly ridiculous! All of it. 

Yet, a part of him that hadn’t listened to reason since all this agony had started still wanted to grasp at even that completely impossible chance. 

Impossible! Stupid! Childish!

Her scent was so pleasant and soft, with the faintest musky tang...

He was being so _foolish_ , crazy, completely inane. Why did his thoughts keep drifting so far out of his control? 

It felt like he should already know, but things kept slipping away. It was like trying to capture water in his paws. He huffed again in frustration, but even that feeling slipped away as quick as it had come. 

His thoughts had no order, slow and murky and swimming in circles. He didn’t like this, but he couldn’t understand the why of it at all...

The ruffling of his fur brought him out from that, at least a little. The hazy, disoriented feeling stayed, but the outside world was present again. He jerked a little in surprise, but realized that his monster was no running her clever digits and paws through his fur. That was a more awkward attempt at grooming than even the worst of his failures, but he felt faintly fond even of her horrid technique. It felt pleasant, even as it worked to deepen the cloudy fugue he was in. 

She was singing at the strangers while she did it, and then her paw brushed over a place where the cords used to strangle him had cut into flesh. She made what sounded like a very unhappy sound, and move back to stand in front of him again, while the strangers closed in. He wanted to flinch, but her touch and singing anchored his attention. 

Her awkwardness was explained, he thought. It wasn’t really grooming, but instead searching for spots of rot hidden by his fur and scales, so that they could be cut away too. 

He supposed he was grateful, if indeed this could save them from death. But the pinpricks of pain were easier to ignore when he focused on her singing, so he did, and buried his nose in her fur when the smell assaulted his senses yet again. 

That didn’t last, because she pulled away almost immediately and went on with her search, at least until she found another spot. A pattern developed, and it helped squash a growing uneasiness he couldn’t name. Patterns were more elegant than any artisan’s wares. Even a simple one like this. She searched, slow, gentle and methodical, and when she found something, called the strangers in to cut it away and create more of that awful smell while she came to his head and sang and stroked his fur to soothe him. Then back to the search again. 

The sides and back of his neck, shoulders, forelimbs and chest passed this way without incident, but oh, how uncomfortable he felt when she searched over his throat. Her touch made him want to squirm, because even for the purpose of healing, it felt much too intimate, like a mate would do. He blamed his discomfort on the lewd thoughts he’d been so recently dwelling on about making her change into a person. 

But he did endure even that, and the rest went more quickly. His sides and back passed in a pleasant blur, punctuated by moments of discomfort when rot was found. His tail was more awkward, because he had the urge to turn and watch, and the platform was too small for him to really move much at all. 

Her mate stepped in then, at her singing, and while he wasn’t as good at a soothing croon, his life-current was strong and comforting on its own. And he thought her mate seemed fascinated with his tendrils, which were very elegant and handsome, unlike much of the rest of him. Being so admired filled him with a preening kind of pleasure that helped chase the disquiet about his monster not being in easy reach away. 

And after all the rot spots were removed from his tail, the check over of his other hind leg went as easy as drawing water into his gills. His injured leg had already been thoroughly done, though he could not say when. Then her paws gently pushed at him, and he realized she hadn’t checked over his belly or-- she hadn’t checked his belly. He didn’t like rolling on his side, because moving was so difficult on land and he wasn’t sure he could right himself without all four legs, but she was trying to help and he thought he could trust that. 

His monster was just as gentled and thorough here as with the rest of him. The space between his forelegs, lower curves of his ribs, and his belly passed easily, without any disquiet at all. And without any spots of rot. 

Then her gentle paws passed over the last of his belly scales and onto the extra thick fur and folds of stretchy skin that made up his pouch. He’d known it would be coming, but only mates, or children, touched pouch-skin and--

It wasn’t merely uncomfortable and too intimate, like the touches to his throat had been. The ruffling and then smoothing of the fur was intensely good, and so incredibly _wrong_. This was not his mate, sidling up all sure in her desire, and inviting him to share in the physical pleasures of their bond. This was not his mate!

But a part of him, let loose in the warm and murky water his mind was floating through, didn’t care, and he felt a strangely diffuse pleasured anticipation. Then right on the tail of that, frightened revulsion. 

It would have been almost easier if his monster had been rough and uncaring about--

\--that thought made everything so much worse. He moaned his distress, kicking out with his good hind and trying to pull back from the touch. The kick missed, and a small part of him that wasn’t gibbering in new panic--getawaydon’ttouchme--was grateful for that.

His monster jumped back in an instant, and sang something sharp to her mate, who also retreated. So did the strangers, though they moved much further, like a little school of prey fish. 

The distance helped ease the fear. His heart slowed quickly, or maybe it had never gone fast to begin with. He felt like, finally, the murk that he had been failing to really fight was clearing, and with it the pain came sneaking up on him like a clumsy child playing at hunting. He still felt heavy, but the drowsy, warm, slowness was getting less acceptable to his mind with each breath. More _wrong_. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and he was suddenly reminded of his monster doing the same earlier. That was important, but his thoughts kept trying to scatter when he grasped at them. The frustration at that felt distant still, but at least it didn’t fade. That was progress, right? 

His monster sang something to the strangers and started pulling... something off her paws that he hadn’t even realized was there. He shook his head again, disgusted in his lack of awareness of the world around him. What had made him like this? 

Paws now bare, she approached him slowly, as if she was afraid he would bite or lash out. He felt a touch of guilt. She had been doing so much to help and he kept thinking improper things about her, not the least... the stupidity about changing her into a person. So he ducked his head and the words came out slurred instead of crisp like he’d meant them. 

“I apologize for... Before.” 

She just sang something soft back, and he knew she didn’t understand. But he felt better anyway, as she hooked the claws back up to the contraption that had transported him out of the shell. The ordeal was over, finally. Maybe... maybe he could dare hope it would keep death at bay. 

The question of whether it had been worth it plagued him until the water rose up around him. He couldn’t scent-taste himself, so the shell had been cleaned again, but when...? Ugh, time wasn’t moving at all like it should. 

His monster spent a moment watching him, but then she left him to his thoughts. He watched her scurry around the cave, helping the strangers clean up and doing who knew what with the bloody gobs of flesh that had been cut from both of them. Probably some healer superstition, maybe to trap the poison in the removed pieces, instead of letting it slowly spread through the rest of their bodies. His eyes kept drooping. He wondered again if it would really work...

He opened his eyes, feeling lighter and more alert, even if the pain was closer and more present. His first thought was how much time had passed, and it was so hard to tell in this cave. He glanced around to see if his monster--

She was standing over the holes in the floor, completely bare and dripping wet. The parts of her that had been cut at had something clear but shiny plastered over the white coverings, but that was the only thing besides her colorful decorations that was on her skin at all. She shivered, luckily her back was to him, and then happily let her mate wrap her in a false-skin that looked almost furred. 

Her mate had done away with the thing over his face--when had he pulled it off? Maybe the first time the strangers stopped paying attention but he couldn’t be sure--and was gently rubbing the false-fur over her wet skin, leaving it dry. She was helping a little, but mostly leaning in like she wanted to curl against him but didn’t dare. Her lack of helping didn’t matter, because shortly she was dry, except for her fur, and pulling false-skins onto herself again. What a relief. 

Even if these ones left almost all of her limbs uncovered. He remember the shape of the one covering her lower parts; she had kept that on when she’d gotten into the shell with him the first day, and he was glad, because he never needed to see her slit. Ever. At least a person’s was discretely nestled between hind legs and fur and not... probably bare. 

The other skin clung to her body, but didn’t even cover all of her shoulders, much less her forelimbs. He wondered at it, but then she padded on bare paws over to the nest, trailing her mate... 

Oh. Right. By the currents, they were trapping her in here--and her mate too? That poor monster...

She was going to sleep. Or, well, it looked like her mate was trying to coax her to sleep and she was arguing like a sulky child. But eventually he won enough of a battle to get her to curl on her side, and he reached out to run his paw through her fur from where he had settled on her perch. 

She batted at him, but her eyes soon drifted closed. He kept up the motions with his paw until her breathing had gone slow and deep, but then he pulled the measure off his forelimb. 

His head bowed and he flicked the beads through his digits. His mouth moved like when the monster’s sang, but no sounds came out. His digits got more and more unsteady, until eventually he just pressed his paw and the measure to his mouth, with a shudder going through his whole body. He rocked back and forth, shaking harder with each rock, then the perch moved out from under him.

He collapsed to the floor, all but silent, and rested his head near hers on the nest, measure still clutched in his paw, and shakes still thundering through him. 

Suddenly, he knew what her mate had been trying to measure. The remaining time of her life. 

The cutting wouldn’t work. 

That monster was going to lose his precious mate, and he _knew_. He knew with an ache so fierce from his own loss, exactly how it felt to be so helpless and watching, screaming and crying and trapped, trapped, _trapped_ \--

His mate had died with a whimpered plea for their child’s life to an inexorable, vile creature that knew no compassion or mercy. His monster’s mate would watch her die to something equally cold and unfeeling, vile as the terrors it sprang from.

Neither of them could have done--could _do_ \--anything to stop what was coming. 

It hurt too much to bear to watch her mate shake and shake and shake in silent agony. 

...but he couldn’t turn away. 

So he watched, and his heart screamed out what he couldn’t voice. What neither of them could voice.


	9. Reach Out For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings are pretty much the same as last chapter, but with an addition of Newt's childhood not being so fun (parental abandonment and emotional distance, plus all the trouble 10yo in college could get into). Not necessarily stuff that needs warning for, but just in case!
> 
> Also, the human Gottlieb family (minus Hermann) still exist in this AU, for reasons.

**Day 6, Newt**

The food that had just been delivered looked delicious. There was even a dessert, and with luxuries getting scarce they way they were, the ingredients that made desserts tasty were starting to get more than a little expensive. Even junk that used to be really cheap, like donuts, were starting to skyrocket in price. Man, donuts. Who knew if he’d ever get to have them again before... 

Bad thoughts. Newt shook his head and picked up the plastic fork. It really did look delicious. It even smelled delicious, and Newt knew he should be hungry. He probably even _was_ , but it was so hard to--

To do anything, if he was completely honest with himself. Everything, even simple stuff like eating or showering, seemed so _pointless_. It didn’t help that his lab had been designed without hot water lines, or that aside from Hermann, he’d been completely alone for two days. Tendo had stopped by, but since he’d checked out completely Blue free, and with less than a one percent chance of developing an infection without further exposure, he hadn’t been allowed past the quarantine plastic. A few words said through a cloudy plastic barrier, or the pressure of Tendo’s hand against his, but without the warmth, or the feel of skin, just wasn’t _enough._ It wasn’t what Newt _needed_. 

He groaned and threw the fork at the offending plastic. It clattered uselessly on the floor. Gee, just like him, wasn’t it? Flopping and falling around and achieving jack shit. Newt felt like he was still in freefall, and had been since Tendo had found the Blue lesions on his thigh. He was catching up on his sleep at least, without regular access to coffee, and with the pressing feeling of nothing he did making a difference weighing him down. He’d start to do something and it was wading through a pool of half-hard cement. Newt was still getting things done, mostly, but he knew that he wasn’t getting them done as fast or as well as he _should_. He just felt so... So. 

Like a dead man walking. 

Not even that. Dead man wasting away on a cot, curled around a pillow and wishing it was his best--only--friend. 

But beating himself up over being a waste of space wasn’t helping. He knew that. He really did. Really. But he couldn’t help it, and all it did was make himself feel worse. Newt had tried to come up with things to help get him that motivation that had been torn away, but... Well, thinking about Tendo, and how he was doing this for Tendo, so Tendo wouldn’t be hurt helped a lot. Sometimes. When it didn’t help, though, it sent him spiraling into the depths of such agony--sad and guilty and, and--that he couldn’t do anything at all.

And thinking about doing this for the Marshall, not letting the man down, just made him feel tired and useless. He’d tried to imagine doing for all the thousands of people currently dying from Blue, and thinking about them counting on him to save them. Yeah... That had gone about as well as he should have expected, and resulted in what he was pretty sure had been a minor panic attack. 

There was one thing he could count on to motivate him to do _something_. It wasn’t much, but making Hermann comfortable as he could didn’t turn out to be the mission impossible task that everything else seemed like. Even when Hermann had refused his attempt to administer more aspirin yesterday--and god knew that Newt had been grateful to take even the edge off the pain of the debridement. He had theories about the refusal, and wished he could make Hermann understand that debridement wouldn’t happen again, because of course Hermann remembered, and without knowing it was a one time thing, the pills could so easily be connected to the bad experience and worse pain. 

So Newt ended up watching Hermann more than doing anything else, when he wasn’t asleep. And Hermann was suffering from the same listlessness, Newt was positive. He’d put in a requisition for food for the otter-dragon--and he needed to properly name and classify the species eventually--and gotten more of it than he’d really expected to get, but Hermann had just picked at the tuna like it was a chore yesterday. Like Newt was picking at his own meals. Maybe today, Newt would try the one crab he’d gotten in the shipment. Or he could try the clams. 

And it helped, because thinking about doing things for Hermann made him feel not so heavy. It felt like he was making a difference, and he wasn’t having to _force_ himself onward. Maybe... 

He hadn’t tried focusing on finding the cure for Hermann’s sake yet. So!

This was for Hermann. Hermann was depending on him and needed his help. He was doing this to save Hermann and send him home. Did Hermann have a family waiting? If he did, Newt was doing this for Hermann’s family too. He was going to tackle all this research for Hermann! 

It was a pretty hefty electronic pile. Newt was surprised at how much had come his way. Mostly it was reports, both already published and still being edited. But some of the researchers had also sent along raw data sets, photos and even a few promises of preserved samples on the way in the mail. There were a couple of sets of notes from protocols and research still very much in progress too. 

Nothing from that bastard Marcus, but Newt hadn’t _actually_ expected that. As if the unethical jerk had anything useful to contribute anyway, but it was the principle of the thing. Banding together as a scientific community and sharing research without being petty about who was going to get the credit for discovering what, to save thousands of lives. That jerk was really the worst kind of scientist. 

Hell, Newt knew that even his most groundbreaking research hadn’t been achieved alone. He’d been standing on the shoulders of all the scientific greats and researchers in the generations before him. Sure, he’d taken a leap up into the stratosphere of progress, which was pretty damn amazing, but he wouldn’t have been able to climb so high without the base they’d laid down years or decades or centuries before. And of course Newt wanted to be famous in his own time, a true blue science rockstar, but someday somebody would take off from the new trails he’d been blazing and go even _farther_. And then they would be famous too. That was how science _worked_. 

But right now... even thinking about being famous didn’t do it for him. He was probably fighting with some kind of depression or something. No point in even seeing a shrink; they took too long. 

Ugh. Dwelling. Bad Newt. 

He shook his head and hunched his shoulders against the bad feelings trying to drown him. Focus! He was doing this for Hermann!

...And especially for Tendo, who was probably worrying himself--

Which, ow. He shouldn’t have let that thought slip. Notes, notes... There they were. Man, he hadn’t taken very many at _all_. Had to fix that. 

To work!

And he tried, he did, but when he had to give up because the numbers and words were making actually negative sense, only a couple hours had passed. Damn. Newt used to be able to pour over research and reports for hours and hours, more excited and ramped up by each new fact. 

It didn’t help that half the data contradicted what he _knew_ about Kaiju. Silicone-based! He’d proven that without a doubt in ‘fifteen. But every other report was talking about carbon-based toxins causing the damage. Okay, some might be carbon-based, if they were toxic byproducts from cell-death that was caused by the silicone Blue, but the numbers didn’t fit what he expected. Or what the researchers who’d done their K-Science homework or had worked with Blue Type I expected. 

At least the reported symptoms and progression were reasonably consistent, but the more Newt looked at the data, the more he was sure that they weren’t actually any closer to _really_ understanding the mechanisms than four years ago.

They were all missing something, but hell if he had any clue what. God damn it all. This was so--

He all caps’d on his notes in sheer frustration. “MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE!”

That was a sure sign he needed a break. He needed to do something else. Anything else. Maybe the answer would come to him spontaneously while he did. It happened sometimes.

Probably not today.

Newt made himself get up and moved over to where he’d been storing Hermann’s food. It had taken some doing to reorganize so he had a whole refrigerated section free of samples for the food, but it had been for Hermann, so that was one of the things he’d actually accomplished.

Out came the crab, and on second thought, Newt grabbed about half of the clams. These were an Atlantic species, he noted, and he recognized some of them as Littleneck Clams, but the name of the other species was escaping him right now. They wouldn’t be a species Hermann was familiar with, unless otter-dragons migrated to the Atlantic, but clams were clams so he’d probably like them anyway. Or like playing with them. Hermann hadn’t been playing with the other ones much, like the way Newt hadn’t been doing much of anything, but maybe getting new ones would rekindle his enthusiasm. 

He grabbed a sliver of tuna and some more aspirin too, on the hope that maybe today Hermann would take the pill. Hermann had to be in pain, so Newt hoped he would. 

Hermann was at the top of the tank by the time Newt had pulled himself up the step ladder. The tank was partially open now, because Newt had given up on keeping the netting over it entirely. He’d left the grate on just so he could put things on it and have both hands free, really. What was the point when it was only him and Hermann in here? 

Newt set the tray down as Hermann clicked, chirped and whistled at him. It was almost the same pattern as yesterday, so then-- Newt leaned forward, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was inviting it or if Hermann would have done it anyway, but Hermann rubbed his jaw against Newt’s cheek and the side of his chin. 

It was wet and a little chilly, but Newt had a theory that these beautiful creatures were at least a little social, and that the touching and grooming were a big part of group dynamics. 

So, okay, this might-- _did_ \-- mean some unfortunate things that Newt was definitely avoiding thinking about, it was also kind of cool that Hermann had accepted him. Besides, it was only a few small touches, and the grooming hadn’t been repeated, which was good for his hair, and it was a little sad that Newt had still been loopy from the sedatives that medical had insisted on and unable to fully appreciate it when it’d happened. He’d thought it over and still wasn’t sure what had set off the grooming attempt, but it obviously hadn’t happened again.

The touching was really nice though, cold and wet aside, and if it helped Hermann feel more calm and alert, it was way a good thing. Newt would tackle the possible problems when-- if... Damn. 

Don’t think about it. Think about giving Hermann the present. 

Newt cleared his throat of the lump. “Crab is going to have to be a special treat, Hermann, but it looks like you could really use it today.” 

Hermann looked at the crab Newt was holding out, then and Newt, and followed up with a few more sounds. There was such variety, even with all the repeated patterns. 

Thinking of repeated patterns, Newt actually hadn’t heard the one he’d mimicked in a while. That was. Hm. When he thought about it more, that phrase had been fired at him whenever he was talking, and Newt just hadn’t... What was the point in talking? In trying? 

Maybe Hermann liked it quiet, because Newt hadn’t gotten splashed since he’d discovered the Blue either. 

Newt shook off those thoughts and held the crab out closer. Hermann made that same string of sounds again, but finally did lever himself up with one paw and grab the crab in the other. Then Hermann disappeared under for a second, to where he’d been “hiding” his--ever growing now, which was not a good sign--stash of food. Not that the stash was actually hidden, but Newt guessed it was an instinct, like dogs burying bones. Newt was happy to pretend for Hermann’s sake, and was completely impressed with how neat the otter-dragon was. Whatever Hermann didn’t eat, usually bones, was piled up in the farthest corner, and every time Newt got out the hose to clean the tank, Hermann shoved the detritus out onto the floor. Which made a mess, but... 

Actually, Hermann had watched him take the mess and put in the trash a few times now. Maybe if he put the trash can close enough to the tank... He’d have to try that, and even put it in a different spot than Hermann usually dumped his leavings. See if Hermann picked up on the purpose of the can and could adapt to it. Newt was pretty sure Hermann would, actually. 

Then Hermann popped back up, and Newt held out the piece of fish and aspirin. For a long, long moment, Hermann didn’t move forward. His gold eyes flicked back and forth between Newt and the fish and he even twisted back to be further away. Then he inched forward, once, twice. Newt was just about to give up when Hermann tipped his neck forward and snagged the fish out of his hand. Oh thank _god_ , Hermann wouldn’t have to suffer as much, until tomorrow at least.

So next, the clams! Newt grabbed them in a rush, dropping two, and held them out. Hermann had just been picking at his food, but hopefully the mental stimulation would help his appetite. Or at least give him something to do. Maybe the different shape of the shells would renew his interest in playing and nip that listlessness in the bud. 

Wishful thinking. Newt hoped Hermann wasn’t mirroring his own depression. But the other option, that Hermann somehow knew, was even worse. 

Hermann trilled at him and twisted so he could use both paws to reach out and clutch the clams to his chest as he dove back down. The clams were put in a separate pile, with the empty shells, instead of with the food. Newt was pretty sure Hermann had eaten the meat out of the last ones before pulling the halves apart, but apparently they were special enough to be set aside. That, and there was the mystery of why Hermann had taken care to pry the shells apart instead of breaking them between his teeth or by smashing them against the tank. Newt was starting to suspect that the shells were more valuable than the meat, if Hermann was even capable of thinking in terms like that. Or maybe it was like with birds, who collected stones or shiny things to make or decorate nests. 

How did otter-dragons reproduce, anyway? 

Well, Hermann had a very marsupial-like pouch, and behind that, what looked like the genital slit found in a lot of species of aquatic mammal. But, really, Newt couldn’t rule out anything, especially since Hermann had plenty of traits more like other clades, like the scales and gills. And thinking about it, Newt couldn’t even rule out Hermann being a female of the species. He’d based his original... he had to admit it was an assumption on the description he’d been sent, and given what a complete disgrace to science that bastard Marcus was... Newt wasn’t sure that Marcus hadn’t just flipped a coin to pick a sex. 

Hermann was just a perfect name, though. Or if Hermann did turn out to be a lady, Newt could change it. Hermann could be... Aha! Hermione would be a great name for lady Hermann. And Newt totally wasn’t basing it on his favorite Harry Potter character. Really. Okay, so he totally was. It worked though, because Hermann was really smart and clearly didn’t take shit from anybody, and if he was a lady, yeah! So, Hermione it would be if Hermann was a girl. 

That didn’t get him anywhere nearer figuring out if Hermann actually _was_ male or female, but that could wait because there were more important things--and Newt wasn’t at all considering abandoning them to figure this out. Mostly--and he didn’t think Hermann would mind a male name in the meantime. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Hermann swimming back up and bumping the top of his muzzle against Newt’s shoulder. It got his shirt wet, but who cared? He’d barely had the energy to dress today, and if he was honest with himself, might not have bothered at all if the lab hadn’t been chilly.

Newt rubbed his cheek back against Hermann’s feeling a little bubble of happiness lift him up again. It would probably never cease to be awesome that this wonderful creature was treating him like one of his own, or at least that was what Newt was figuring based on the limited evidence he had. It was so _good_ to be touched, and soothed a jittering, desperate _thing_ inside, that Newt had gotten so good at mostly ignoring, because usually he had at least one somebody to horse around with, or even better, touch and cuddle and have sex with. 

Tendo... 

God damn. 

There he went again, and he only had his own intrinsic nature to blame. Newt was really super incredibly tactile; he’d known that forever. Hell, he probably should have liked math more because it went so hand in hand with science, but his tactile nature had assured that he’d never gotten into the really high level math. Newt just couldn’t _touch_ numbers. Numbers were good for measuring things he could directly experience--if only through a microscope or some other piece of equipment, which wasn’t as good but good enough--like mass or molecular density or cell growth, but abstract math got harder for him to wrap his head around. Not impossible, but when abstract math went up against cellular manipulation, abstract math got its ass kicked. Better to leave the super math to people who loved numbers like Newt loved biochemical processes. 

But there was a huge, huge downside to being so tactile, at least for Newt. As bad as he was at figuring people out sometimes--or most of the time--Newt _needed_ people. He needed to be around them and interacting at least, and to have regular “hits” of that physical contact he craved to really get by. And when he wasn’t getting it, well, Newt usually managed to get himself into trouble. 

Hermann was making a low noise, nudging and rubbing at his shoulder again and again, and Newt ran his fingers through the mixed scales and fur along the side of Hermann’s neck. They’d established yesterday that the underside of the throat was a no-touch zone, which was a shame, but Newt was going to respect Hermann’s boundaries as much as he could. 

Newt was starting to think of Hermann as a fully sentient person, he realized with a start. This wasn’t a bad thing on its own, especially when he didn’t know yet exactly how smart Hermann was, but, call it intuition, Newt was sure this would lead to trouble somehow. 

It already was, if he was really going to be honest and actually think about and admit the rehabilitation problem he was kind of intentionally ignoring. Wild animals that lost their natural wariness of humans lost their best defense. And predators like Hermann who lost the wariness could also end up hurting humans, as well as being more vulnerable to the dangers humans posed. And here he was indulging in his own wants in spite of knowing that. 

But it wasn’t too bad yet, probably. It was only a few small touches in a time of super high stress for both of them. If they got better and things evened out, he could fix it. Right? 

...Right? He hoped so. Because he didn’t want to think about--

It was a mess in the making, and yet, here was Newt not able to bring himself to put a stop to it just yet. It wasn’t too bad yet; it couldn’t be. It was still like his first semester at MIT all over again, doing things he knew weren’t _really_ right or good, and letting other people do things he knew would come back to bite them later. And for what? All for a little contact. 

At MIT, Newt at least had the excuse of being so young, so small, and so far from his family for the first time. He tried not to blame his parents for not moving, because a piano tuner and a music teacher really couldn’t afford to just pick up and move--again, and the move to the US had put them in the hole for _years_ \--when they didn’t exactly have high demand jobs. Uncle Illia had done better, but it had still taken him a long while to find a job in the area and get moved. In the meantime Newt had been all alone--even though he swore he could take care of himself, all by himself, over and over--in the middle of a whole culture of kids who were pushing a decade on him. And that was just the freshmen. 

Newt had been too excited for it to really kick in at first. College was going to be _so_ different from highschool, he had thought. He’d had his schedule all planned out, crammed so full it nearly gave his advisor a mini heart attack. It had gotten less full by the end of the add-drop period, because he’d tested out of half of the classes, and into second semester level. And into 200 level for some, so he’d still had a pretty full schedule. His professors had adored him, mostly, even if in half the classes he got banned from answering questions, because he knew almost all of them and questions were supposed to make the class participate, not just Newt.

The students, though, weren’t much better than highschool. Still way older. Still thinking he was a little shit or a know-it-all nuisance at best. He’d tried to ignore it, but oh, it still stung and he was so _lonely_. So when a bunch of upperclassmen had approached him for study sessions, he’d jumped at the chance. Most of them were frat boys, and Newt was happy to be inducted as a little mascot. More of a pet, looking back, but the hair ruffles and shoving and back-slapping and _attention_ had filled that empty craving enough that he didn’t give a damn back then. 

And they were using him; he’d seen through that the first night. They weren’t actually studying, and the grilling him to see if he was really a genius conveniently got all their homework questions answered. Even for a few classes that Newt wasn’t even taking. Newt had known it was wrong, and that they were basically using him to cheat, but he’d excused it to himself, because it wasn’t like they were getting test answers off of him or anything. But then when the first big tests had started rolling around, shit had gone pear shaped. “His” frat boys had all gotten really poor to middling grades, when their homework had all been perfect, naturally. 

After that had come the lectures, the really uncomfortable not-educational kind. Three professors actually pulled him aside to talk about it, including one he’d never met--he hadn’t been able to fit that physics class into his schedule--and the disappointment had torn him apart. Especially since his favorite professor had been one of the ones to do it. It was embarrassing as hell, but Newt had broken down into sniffles and confessed that he’d known it was wrong, but that they wouldn’t want him around at all if he didn’t help them with their homework.

He’d gotten a hug for it, and a free pass to his professor’s office at any time. Then later, armed with new knowledge, had been able to actually help “his” frat boys with their homework instead of spitting out answers. Many of them wandered off as the semester passed, but a couple might have secretly appreciated the help, and bonus, Newt discovered that teaching was pretty awesome. Tutoring, whatever. And getting way too attached to a professor instead of frat boys was probably better for Newt in the long run. 

At least accidentally calling his professor uncle--and on one memorable occasion, dad--was just plain awkward, and not creepy like it could have been. Newt could only imagine how badly it might have gone with someone less parental. And nope, he wasn’t going to think of his sexual misadventures right now. Those were for another day. One that would preferably come...never.

Even if the thoughts were crowding-- Whoa!

The fanfare from his phone gave Newt a start, and Hermann more than one. The otter dragon reeled back with a barking noise, and eyed Newt’s pocket suspiciously. Newt regretted the distance instantly but pulled his phone out anyway. New mail, and it looked like the doctor he would be working with had arrived and would be stopping by the lab after a brief tour of the ‘dome. Newt figured the actual message was more along the lines of ‘clean up your shit and get presentable because you’re going to have a guest in twenty minutes’ but it was the thought that counted, he supposed. 

Newt wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to his new coworker’s arrival or not, but Hermann had gotten over his fright and was peering down at the screen of the phone--when had he gotten so close again? 

Hermann twisted his head, huffed at it, and even sniffed at it with furiously twitching whiskers and jerking barbels. He shook his head after one of the barbels touched the edge of the phone, and it reminded Newt of the time his dog had bit down on a bee when he’d been little. Then Hermann poked at it with a claw before Newt could protest the wet near his phone. He somehow managed to hit just the right spot to close out of the email and reared back again with a snort as the screen suddenly changed. 

Newt laughed, and wow, it felt kind of awesome for a moment. He thought Hermann looked perkier too, and definitely still very interested in the phone. 

“You like it, huh? Wanna see more?”

Newt figured he should send an email back anyway, and he could show Hermann the phone at the same time. So he wiped away the spot of water that Hermann’s claw had left behind, and tapped the phone to bring the email client back up. 

Hermann kept making noises, peering at the phone, then at Newt, over and over. Each time Newt made the screen changed he chirped, or something like a chirp. It was so cute that Newt just had to reach out and scratch Hermann’s head. Otter-dragons didn’t have external ears, but Hermann still liked having the fur in that area ruffled and smoothed, apparently. 

Newt played with his phone longer than he needed to, but Hermann looked so interested that he didn’t want to stop. And maybe he should have been watching the time more closely, because suddenly the plastic pulled aside. Standing out side was the Marshall, but he wasn’t dressed for the occasion, so Newt assumed he wasn’t going to be coming in. But with him was a very smartly dressed woman in a crisp pant-suit and lab coat who walked in a moment later with a nod in the Marshall’s direction. By the time the plastic fell back down she was halfway across the floor. 

She wasn’t fully suited up in hazmat gear, but really, that wasn’t strictly necessary at this point. And she still had the necessaries: gloves, a clear filtration mask, clothes that covered her from neck on down... Newt was glad he could see _her_ , though, instead of a shapeless anonymous full suit. It was nice. Not so impersonal as the visits from medical. 

Newt’s first full impression was of sternness, angular features, and a willowy tallness. Then she smiled at him and Hermann--still with heads bent over his phone up at the tank--and the curve of her thin mouth through the plastic made her simply light up the whole room. Wow, okay. When she smiled, she was not only really smart--she had to be, because she was a doctor and a _researcher_ and still looked pretty young--but also really hot. Newt was in love.

Fine. Technically he was just feeling some really intense attraction and the corresponding biochemical cocktail invading his brain, but “in love” sounded more elegant. He really needed to get Tendo clued in on her presence pronto, because hot damn. And maybe she’d be interested in--

The thought screeched to a halt, swerved, and then got slammed into by the eighteen-wheeler of reality incoming from the other direction.

Newt wasn’t going to have a say in the search for dream girl anymore. Even if by some miracle he and doctor amazing-smile did find the cure, the stress, the pain-- Living with Newt under normal circumstances was almost impossible, as he’d been told so many times. Living with Newt so depressed and sick and not even able to be in the same room would be too much. If Tendo listened to what was good for him... 

Newt’s eyes prickled, hot and wet, and he suddenly felt like he was ten and in Professor Harris’s office again, crying because he was suddenly useless to the only people who tolerated him. 

Tendo _couldn’t_ stay, not without getting really fucking _hurt_. And the part of Newt that was insisting that Tendo would still _try_ kept losing to the part that hissed and snarled that Newt wasn’t even worth it, so sick, and Tendo would end up cutting his losses as soon as it wouldn’t make him look like a complete asshole. 

And that was why thinking about doing this for Tendo always ended up _hurting_. Newt couldn’t keep the bad thoughts at bay. The guilt. The fear. The dread. The hurt. 

Hermann must have sensed his distress, because suddenly there was a low, rumbling croon and a muzzle pressed against his cheek. Newt was suddenly really glad Hermann was there, or who knew how horribly he would have embarrassed himself in the next moment?

Doctor amazing-smile wasn’t smiling anymore, at least until she caught Newt looking. Her voice was as crisp as her clothes, but it was a freshly ironed crisp and not an icy morning crisp. “I wasn’t informed that your specimen was so friendly, Doctor Geiszler.” 

She had a really interesting accent too. Mostly it sounded kind of like something right out of the BBC newscasts, but it had hints and undercurrents of something more. If only because most people didn’t pronounce his name like back in Germany, or how his parents and uncle still did, at least without hearing it first. And she just had, without any prompting. Huh. Interesting. Not that Newt ever bothered to correct people when they got it wrong, but...

“Doctor Karla Gottlieb.” Her smile was looking less forced by the second. And she was definitely, probably fluent in German. 

Newt pulled away from Hermann reluctantly and started down the ladder. “Hermann is kind of a grump, actually, but dying together is a bonding experience.” 

And that joke had just fallen so epically flat that they all winced, even Hermann, though Hermann was probably reacting more to tone and body language. So Newt tried again with a much more practiced line. “And call me Newt. Only my mother calls me doctor.”

_Much_ better, even if technically it should be just as unfunny. The practice helped it come out light and airy, like a joke instead of truth. And it was a coping mechanism. Make light of an uncomfortable fact to help deal with it. His mother had never, ever, not even once that he could remember, called him son. Joking was easier than interrogating the script of his life. Joking helped, really. And so did reminding himself that his mother was a dream mom, compared to his bio-mother, who’d called up his number and talked to him personally exactly twice since dumping him with his father at less than two weeks old. And both times only when he’d made international news. Once as the youngest kid to ever earn a PhD at MIT--more than making up for not being the youngest to be accepted--and then when his tissue replication research had broken into the public eye in an awesome way, 2 PhDs later.

Not that Newt was blaming either of them! Hell no, he wasn’t that kind of son. They’d both _tried_. But... Well. His bio-mother had had such a demanding career, a recently dissolved marriage threatening it, and suddenly a colicky, screaming baby to deal with on top of the rest. Keeping him just wasn’t in the cards for her. She had done the right thing, and besides, she’d still cared enough to send gifts and money regularly, along with Christmas cards--that he guessed sort of doubled as birthday cards...a month away counted, right?--and she so had sounded a little _guilty_ under the awkward both times they’d talked. Newt was almost positive she’d kept tabs on him through his father too. 

And as for his mother, well, she’d fallen in love with a man who had a very young, overactive, genius son from a proven affair, and what was that saying? Once a cheater, always a cheater. It wasn’t really _true_ , because Newt was positive his father was just as poly as he was, but it was so much harder being poly in the nineties. He was also pretty sure his mother definitely didn’t believe polyamory was a real thing, so to her Newt was proof that his father would and _had_ cheated on women he loved, and on top of that Newt had been a pretty impossible child to deal with. And that was something he needed to own up to, because he could have controlled himself at least a little better. But he’d been too smart, too uncontrollable and wild, too hyper. Prone to taking things apart to see how the insides worked without asking, and never giving a damn how expensive an electronic it was, or how gross the birds and mice the neighbors’ cat caught were. Never thinking about anything or anyone else, except his next adventure into learning new things. He’d wanted to know _everything_ then. Still did, but now he knew more about his limits. Shame he hadn’t known then what he knew now; maybe he could have tried to connect to his mother before it was too late.

They’d only really operated in the same sphere when it came to music, and when he was young he was always her bright little musician. But in spite of his talent with piano, and his love of music, his love of science had been greater and science had won out. After that... He’d become her brilliant Doctor Geiszler eventually, and Newt knew that she really did care, but it had always been hard for her to show affection--he knew the kids she taught thought of her as the stern teacher--to anybody, really. Just as affection was hard for Newt, period. 

But Newt had come to terms with all of it ages ago, and he was ace at grinning through the maudlin thoughts always snagging his brain when he used the joke. So when the amazing smile came back, along with a laugh that was equally awesome, Newt came forward and shook her gloved hand. She was taller than him, he noticed, and a little too severe to be classically beautiful, but Newt had always cared more about brains and smiles and the awesome ways that differently proportioned bodies worked. 

“If we’re going to be informal, call me Karla, Newt.” She laughed again. “Good nickname for a biologist.” 

“Will do, Karla!” He definitely liked her name, but his hypothesis still needed testing out. “So, where are you from, originally?”

“Originally? A little town in Germany you probably wouldn’t have heard of.” 

Bingo! Newt grinned, bounced on his feet with glee at being right and switched to German. “You might be surprised! Or maybe not; I haven’t been back to Germany since K-Day. And then only to visit.” 

“Oh my.” Her expression of shock was ridiculous, but then she started grinning and answered in the same language. “I thought you were an American. I really shouldn’t be surprised.” 

“I’ve actually got a dual citizenship now, instead of just the German one I was born with. You probably know first hand how completely _impossible_ Visas have become, but the US got really accommodating about citizenship rule changes and exceptions when tons of professionals and scientists started saying screw it and heading back home to countries that didn’t have a Pacific shore, if you know what I mean. Germany actually ended up bitchier about it than the US, but no country wants to be burning bridges when it comes to cutting edge scientists, so they finally gave permission.” 

German felt really good on his tongue, and Karla was still gracing him with that amazing smile. But then she clapped her hands really loudly and made him jump. Mean. 

She switched back to English too, shame. “As much as I’d like to keep discussing that, I’ve got unpacking to do. Care to show me the facilities so I know what we’re working with when we get started tomorrow?”

“Sure thing!” And Newt felt tired again, just thinking about it, but he had to at least put the effort in. Karla was a good audience at least, but Newt was pretty sure she noticed his tiredness because she was keeping things brief. Or maybe she was just nervous about her stuff. She asked some very good questions, though, and it made Newt think even more highly of her. Such a smart woman. Mm, yeah. The attraction cocktail was keeping things upbeat; that was a good thing. 

But then there was nothing else to show and Newt found himself standing awkwardly by his desk while she looked over the lab one last time. The food that he still hadn’t touched--breakfast too--caught her eye and her smile faltered. Newt only winced. He could guess what was coming. 

Karla sighed and her smile shifted so that only a corner of her mouth was quirked up. “You’ve already heard it plenty, I’m going to guess. I’ll just tell you what I think. We’re going to beat this. I’ve seen your work; it’s brilliant. I requested to work with you specifically months ago, and it looks like you already know the real problem we face.” 

A glance at his notes punctuated the pause, and his frustration and all caps was there for the whole world to gawk at. The wince turned into a cringe.

The smile was back, though. “My sentiments _exactly_ , by the way. Which is why the research community working on this needs fresh eyes. Your eyes, Newt. And you’ll need all the energy you can get.

“I know, I know...” Newt didn’t bother with the but and what came after. 

“I could always bat my eyelashes prettily and say do it for me, _darling_.” She was definitely teasing, and oh shit, had he been staring? 

It felt good anyway. “I can tell you which tactic my cock likes more--” Wait. Fuck. Bad Newt. “Sorry! That was, uh... unprofessional.” 

“You’re honest, at least!” She laughed for a minute and then her expression softened. “Not eating isn’t helping you deal with the emotional backlash of being diagnosed with a temporarily terminal illness.”

“Temporarily terminal.” For some reason that was so very funny. 

“Well, it won’t be when we’re done with it!” 

She had plenty of enthusiasm for the both of them. Good; she’d need it. She was also right, and Newt surprised himself by not feeling reluctant or rebellious. He sat down and snatched the fork from his breakfast.

“Look. I’m eating.” And maybe he was hungry after all. Newt shoveled a couple more bites into his mouth. He wasn’t maybe basking in that approving smile. Really.

Karla was smiling all the way out the quarantine plastic, her last words floating back slightly muffled. “I’ll see you tomorrow to start tackling the mechanisms! I’m sure everything will fall into place once we’ve isolated them.” 

Maybe they _could_ do this. Maybe it would be the kind of fun research was supposed to be!

The feeling of excitement, and hunger, lasted for all of five minutes after Karla left, and when it disappeared the listless despair plowed back into him like a hurricane. Newt made it to his cot and curled up around his pillow before tears started threatening. 

And then, just... didn’t get back up. 

**Day 9, ???**

He wished he could get out of the shell. The new female had just left the cave, and just like every time before seemed to take all life and energy out of his monster and drag it away with her. 

His monster was still moving around and doing things, this time, but he could see how her movements slowed, and how her mouth turned down in unhappiness. 

He ached to rub against her and give what comfort he could, and this was not a good thing, because it wasn’t a child’s story and it was dangerous to feel so strongly about a monster. It wasn’t so egregious when it had just been whims and wishes and the occasional touch, but like this... No person would agree that this was good or right. 

Bringing himself to stop would be another matter entirely, and did he even truly want to? 

That first night, he’d assumed, she’d slept in the cave with him another monster had come to take her mate away while she was still sleeping and then when she’d awoken again-- _Oh._

Ever since, he’d watch her struggle with the same hopeless feelings that he felt and the crush of death swimming ever closer and expelling decaying scent-taste over their necks. He hadn’t meant to start doing it, but she looked so _sad_. So in fits and starts, he was treating her more and more like a group-mate, and touching got easier and easier each time. And selfishly, it gave him at least as much, if not more, comfort as it did her. 

She was doing her best to make him comfortable too, bringing gifts like the strange clams and even the crab. But she was neglecting herself, and if she truly was nurturing a child within her... He didn’t know what to do. He’d been making sure to eat, and that she could see it, to encourage her but other than make her mouth turn up a little each time, it did little. 

The only time she seemed like how she had been before the rot was when the other female was present. She would grow animated and loud as they did... something together. He could not guess what, only that it sometimes involved the thin not-stone claws. Either to suck blood out, or put liquids in many colors in. 

His monster accepted it all so he tried to too. As long as she was there, rubbing her paws through his fur and crooning her song at him, he found he could mostly endure without too many memories plaguing him. And when she or the other female used the claws on him, they hardly hurt at all. Just a tiny prick, barely felt. It helped keep the memories at bay, and also made him wonder if the vile one had been perverting the monsters’ healing arts. 

The other female was a healer too, he was sure, and a mother. It was clear that she was nursing a child. He’d wondered at first at the way her chest protruded, but then he’d remembered the small, darker colored and almost pebbly spots he’d seen on his monster’s chest. Teats, and when he figured this out, the reason for the protruding chest was as obvious as a glow-horn in the dark. They were heavy and full with milk, because of course the new female couldn’t nurse while healing. 

Teats on the chest like that looked very strange to him. It was such an odd place. But as he puzzled it over, things started to fall into place. They moved on only two legs, so their forelegs were always free to hold things. A nursing female would be able to hold her child close to nurse, even when she had to move about, and if not as secure, it gave as much freedom as the pouch on a person. Maybe the monsters weren’t put together so strangely after all. 

But for one puzzle solved, there was always another. He was still wondering what the other female’s intent was, especially to be willing to be separated from her child for such lengths of time and in the presence of the rot. He had no answers for that, and right now the pain was starting to return and--

Ah, there she was. It was obvious now that the bitter white things were some kind of medicine to ease pain, and of course, the number effected the strength. He guessed that one simply eased the pain, while two not only made it all but gone but caused the hazy confusion. He couldn’t be completely sure without experiencing it again, but he didn’t want to either, so he was content to let that remain a guess. So when she’d climbed up to the edge of the shell he didn’t hesitate this time before taking the bite of fish and the medicine. 

Then he rubbed his jaw against hers and she sang softly back. There was an odd pang in him. As much as her constant chatter had been frustrating and annoying, now that it was gone, he missed her boisterous singing horribly. 

He had no way to tell her, though, even though he had been listening to their songs and trying to find the patterns. They were there, of course, but it was difficult to get the measure of them without an anchor-stone to cast his measures out from. He was determined to find that pattern, because he needed to thank her for trying so hard, even if there wasn’t hope. And he wanted to be able to ask for the final rest when it all became too much. 

He still didn’t understand why they were being kept alive. It was possible, likely even, that his monster was indeed increasing with child, but he had no way of truly proving that, and even so, it didn’t explain him. 

Unless his monster thought _he_ was a female and also carrying a child. The thought was ludicrous and made him laugh, which she echoed from her spot still rubbing against his jaw. Their moments touching like this were getting longer and longer now, but he pulled back just a little to look at her. 

Could she really think that? True, he was a little on the small side for a male, and the air didn’t carry his scent nearly as well as water, but how could anyone mistake it for the scent of a female? 

Except... he couldn’t make sense of their scents at all. Was it the same, but in reverse? Scent aside, what else could have convinced her that he was female? He didn’t have a child in his pouch--and how that thought brought grief for his mate and child surging forward again. His child had been almost grown enough to start venturing out of his mate’s pouch, and he had been filed with joy and anticipation that soon he would be sharing in the wonderful task of sheltering and protecting their child with his own pouch. The little one would have still nursed from his mate, of course, but it was a father’s joy and duty to shelter children while mate rested or frolicked. 

He shook his head and pressed down, so that he could almost feel the beat of her heart against his own neck. He didn’t want to dwell on that agony, so... 

What could it be? He couldn’t think of any other sure sign of femaleness besides those. Or... mating. And his monster hadn’t done more than quickly glance that he was aware of. It would take more than a long contemplation to tell the difference between male and female that way. It could only be felt, and then it would probably take feeling inside of the slit and-- 

Those were not thoughts he should be thinking, for so many reasons. Not the least, memories. 

They didn’t come, but he was still left with no idea why she might assume he was a female. In that case, it might be something else entirely, but what? All these mysteries were getting so very frustrating. 

He grumbled his frustration against her shoulder and she instantly ran the clever digits of her paws through his fur. As wrong as it might be, oh how good it felt to treat her like group and share in such intimacies. He wished he could pull her into the shell and show her how it was truly done. Or that he could leave it himself. They could stretch out, side against side and maybe he could wrap his tail around her hind paws, because she didn’t have a tail to wrap around his in turn. 

It would be so soothing to lie like that together, and ease that lonely, isolated ache he knew they both felt. Her mate wasn’t at all allowed in the cave anymore, he’d determined, and though she tried to touch him through the shell, it clearly didn’t help her much. He knew how unsatisfying that was. And he’d watched so many times now, as she curled up in her nest and wrapped herself around a soft white thing to hold it close. If that wasn’t the actions of someone desperately lonely, he didn’t know what was. 

He was battling that same emptiness, and if he was damned for being so desperate to treat a non-person like a group-mate, what did it matter? 

His thoughts swam in a circle, because he knew. He knew that if he was going to do this and treat her like group, he couldn’t do it half-way. Which brought him back to her not doing more than pick at her food, even when the other female had given her some kind of gift.

He understood the lack of hunger well, but just giving hints wasn’t taking the responsibility he should. Even the other female was doing more to encourage eating than he was right now, but her tactics only worked when she was actually in the cave, and his monster would go back to picking disconsolately as soon as she left. 

She wasn’t eating enough, _especially_ if she was nurturing a child. That was all there was to it. 

He needed to do something about it, even if it felt too forward for even their new level of intimacy. He wished again that they could just understand each other; this would be so much easier then. 

So he took a breath into his lungs, stretched his neck over the edge of the shell, and then twisted a little to bump his nuzzle against her belly. He wasn’t going to focus on the strange feeling it gave him. This was to get her to eat. 

“You’re not eating enough, my monster. I think you’re getting thinner.” 

She jerked and made a loud, breathy sound, then sang something high and stuttering. he felt a moment of worry that she would fall, but she luckily did no more than sway. 

Did she understand? She only touched her paw to the damp spot on her false-skin and stared at him with wide green eyes. Maybe he needed to be more obvious. He felt already like he would regret it, but he snatched up a piece of fish she had brought and then pressed it into her paw. 

She looked down at it for a long moment, then back at him, and then down again at the food. Her song sounded hesitant, like she couldn’t decide what she wanted to say in return. But she still wasn’t eating.

Had he made a mistake? She couldn’t think...

Her mate brought her food often, when he visited the cave. Was it only a thing for courting couples and mated pairs to do? True, food was a frequent gift, but it was more of a gift for anyone in a group than mates specifically. Courtship gifts were more elaborate, like measures, or pieces of wealth--which did sometimes include rare treats like northern sea crabs, he had to concede--or tools. The shells his monster had been giving her were closer to a courtship gift--albeit a child’s practice attempt--than...

Oh Moon-mother, she couldn’t think-- She couldn’t want-- Did she? 

Surely it must be a misunderstanding. He made an inquiring noise, not even sure she’d understand that. 

She had been continuing to look at the fish like she didn’t know what to do with it--maybe monsters didn’t eat fish often; he certainly couldn’t recognize almost all of the things she did eat. But at the sound, she sang at him, still slow and unsure, then carefully climbed down. The fish was put, with much more care than he usually saw her use, back into the side cave she kept his food in, and she kept glancing back at him the whole time. 

He pretended to eat, even though it felt heavy and choking in his throat and he only got down a bite or two, and slowly she relaxed. Good. She went to her own food and started eating after that, though with a few more looks his way. Even better. 

And if she didn’t eat very much, at least she was doing more than poking at it with the eating tool that he couldn’t decide was clever or pointless. 

He felt a rush of pleasure at succeeding, and with it came a burst of hunger, so he went after his own food with relish, and to his surprise, cleared through most of the tuna before he started feeling uncomfortably full. She watched with an upturned mouth while he stretched, feeling full and almost content. 

She sang at him, sounding almost normal, and he laughed and splashed her just a little. She made a protest, of course, but followed up with the joyful sound he could only compare to laughter right after. It was good, and he could almost forget the dire fate awaiting them both, just for a moment. 

Then she began the routine cleaning of the shell, and he frolicked and sang silly childhood rhymes, wanting to lose himself in the feeling. She seemed to catch the rhythm and sang back. Her attempt was mostly her own song, and garbled gibberish that sounded like a newly emerged child’s babbling, but is was still fun, and they sang back and forth until the shell was clean and full again. It was so good, and he went to rub his jaw against hers--

She did the same, and he hadn’t expected it, so instead of a nice, reassuring rub, the tip of his muzzle bumped against her mouth.

She sputtered in surprise, and he remembered suddenly that she greeted her mate by pressing their mouths together. Was than an intimate thing for monsters? He felt a burst of embarrassment. Oh, what must she be thinking? 

Her face changed color a little, looking more pink. He knew from looking that it must be because of the monsters’ delicate skin showing the blood beneath, but he wasn’t sure how more blood had been brought or why. 

They looked at each other for a moment, then she made that sound like laughter--even if that too, stuttered--and rubbed her paw against his neck. He rubbed against her jaw properly this time, and then she climbed back down again. Like the other times she’d cleaned the shell recently, she continued and started to wash herself. First stripping out of her false-skins and then picking up the false-eel.

He tried not to look as she stripped, but it was hard. The designs on her skin drew his gaze. He had made sense of them, finally, but he wasn’t sure he liked knowing better than the mystery. The colors had resolved into very strange creatures, bristling and looking fierce as they swam through what he thought was meant to be a blood-red sea. Why would she even think of putting such things on her skin? Was it a monster thing? 

She always kept her back turned toward him, at least, even when she was drying herself with the false fur. He was glad because he still had no desire to see her slit. But today she kept glancing back at him and he busied himself with working out measures with he clams to have something else to look at. It didn’t work well, and they caught each other looking far more than once.

Thank the currents that it didn’t take her long to wash, and she didn’t dawdle with putting the false skin back on. He almost babbled in relief as he watched her cross to the platform by her nest to do whatever it was she was doing. 

The following quiet allowed the buoyant feelings to slip away, to his mourning, so he welcomed the arrival of her mate. Who he only regretted the exile of for her sake. Truly. 

Her mate stood outside the shell across the cave opening as she pressed against it, and aligned his paw with hers. They exchanged quiet song for a few moments, and then her mate pulled something out from behind his back and slipped it under the edge of the shell. She nearly flung herself at him in response and he did his best, fighting against the flexible shell to hold her. 

But then they parted and her mate walked very slowly away while she watched. She stood still for an even longer time after that, before finally carrying the object over to the platform. It was a food-shell, and inside--

They were the objects she’d been so eager for the first time he’d seen her mate. He was bringing her what must be a rare treat, probably to show he still loved her, even parted as they were. She just dropped the white treat back into the shell and turned slowly around. 

She collapsed on her nest a moment later, and grabbed that same white object she liked to hold when she wasn’t resting her head on it, and squeezed it very hard. 

Then she wailed. 

All he could do was watch, helpless to provide any comfort at all. 

**Day 15, Newt**

The Blue was coming back, around the edges of the lesions. Some could probably be debrided again, but not so close to his jugular, or the one behind his knee. The first would almost certainly invite a quicker death, and the second would cripple him if he lived. The doctors had told him he’d barely avoided losing connective tissues during the first debridement, and with all the tendons and ligaments so close... 

Newt grimaced at the slide currently resting innocently in his microscope. Soon he’d need to figure out how to get Hermann into imaging equipment. They both needed to be checked for internal lesions; it was so important to track every detail of the progression if they were going to find the mechanisms and figure out how they worked. 

Not that they were getting any closer. The research didn’t make sense, but it wasn’t _wrong_. He could see it in his own blood, and in Hermann’s. Carbon-based toxins. They were what was doing most of the damage, but--

But. Always a but. And this one he just couldn’t get over. 

Kaiju didn’t have carbon compounds. He could believe their silicone compounds being very resistant to the body breaking them down, and to decay, but Kaiju only had trace amounts of carbon compounds in their systems, and those only from eating once through the Breach. Or that was the going theory. Newt hadn’t had the time or resources to test it, or a chance to study intact stomach contents that weren’t completely ruined by the body explosively decaying around them. 

It all came back to the carbon compounds that were persisting in spite of injections of the drugs they’d found to stop Type I in its tracks, and even maybe increasing. It was harder to say, because of the super tiny sample size. But Newt knew that even the amounts that were present were ruining his kidneys and his liver, and would soon start in on his circulatory system full bore. If he was lucky, or unlucky, it might hit his respiratory or nervous systems too before he went. 

And the funny thing about Blue, Type II was nearly the opposite, in spite of the same base source. It attacked the respiratory systems first, resulting in the tell-tale aerosolized Blue particles that would be easily seen on protective masks, or around the edges of the mouth and nose. 

Every type killed differently. Type I caused catastrophic multi-organ failure in a rapid cascade. It attacked, sent into shock, and demolished the body’s systems in a few days, or a couple weeks at most. If it wasn’t treated. On the other hand, Type II either caused such massive pulmonary damage that the victims asphyxiated and drowned in their own blood and Blue secretions, or were killed by cardiac failure. And on the other, other hand, Type III usually killed by massive hemorrhages when artery and vein walls weakened by lesions finally collapsed and burst. 

But the toxins were the same, at least for II and III, and they were carbon. Newt was about ready to pull his hair out. No matter how many times he went over it in his head, it still didn’t make sense. Where was the carbon coming from? It was almost like the Blue was replicating itse--

What if it was? It was crazy, because toxins weren’t bacteria or viruses, or cancer cells, that could reproduce and replicate, but what if that _was_ what was happening? Humans, or any other Earth creature, never had more than traces of silicone. So if the Blue was... reproducing, it would have to use the building blocks it had available and that meant... carbon. 

This was possibly the craziest and most impossible theory he’d ever had, and there was no way to prove it. How would he even _catch_ toxic compounds making more of itself? 

Or was there a way to test for it? 

Wracking his brain came up with nothing, but he fired off an email to Karla with the theory. It couldn’t hurt, and maybe it would inspire her somehow. Man, he wished he had coffee. But coffee would be super bad for his life expectancy. 

Actually, the caffeine, because of the effects on body systems, but decaf sucked.

So Newt would have to make due without. At least he didn’t feel so physically tired since he’d started _making_ himself eat. That day, with _everyone_ giving him gifts of food had been, well...

First, Mako’s--and also the Marshall’s, he was pretty sure--gift of an orange with a little note about keeping his strength up. Then Karla had somehow gotten her hands on not just any chocolate, but the _good_ stuff. 

Then... Hermann. That had been the biggest surprise. Newt still wasn’t sure what to do with the piece of fish and he could still remember the nudging against his stomach. He’d guessed right, though, and Hermann had perked right up and started eating more for himself when he saw Newt eating. 

But why _Hermann_ was trying to get him to eat, he still hadn’t figured out. It was only a little thing on the long list of things that were... 

Unexpected. Like the... Newt could only call it singing back and forth that had been happening during bathtime, and how _affectionate_ Hermann had got when he’d successfully mimicked the sounds yesterday. There had been, like, five full minutes of enthusiastic cheek rubbing and chattering. It had felt _really_ good, like maybe he wouldn’t mind getting into the tank again, just so they could continue, uh... 

Maybe Newt was still contact starved--like he’d ever not been--and considering the possibility of full body rubs, like a cat was not a good thing. 

This was getting maybe just a little unsafe for both of them, and then there were the other things he’d noticed. Like how Hermann had started staring at him while he showered. It was really obvious, both the watching and Hermann pretending to look busy to try to hide the watching. Newt figured--hoped--Hermann was probably just curious, but it was still super awkward. Newt had kept his back turned out of habit, but now he was making doubly sure. Did not want to have an otter-dragon looking at his junk. 

And there had been the kiss too. _That_ had definitely just been a freak happening, because they’d both gone for a cheek rub at the same time. Accidents like that only ever meant things in stupid romantic comedies. And if Newt could, he’d take the part of his brain that kept slyly whispering that Newt had kissed Tendo while Hermann was watching _several_ times, and that Hermann was a proven mimic, right out of his head and shoot it.

Even if that was the case, it was like dogs and sniffing crotches. Humans had a bad habit of trying to assign human meaning to animal actions. Still, he was glad it happened only once because he had no idea how to teach “no kissing” to even an animal as smart as Hermann. 

If they lived through this, Newt needed to get Hermann back to the wild before he started identifying with humans more than his own species. 

He really needed to put a stop to the touching and cheek rubs, stat, or all of the rehabilitation in the world wouldn’t be enough. 

...he wasn’t going to. He really wasn’t even going to try, was he? After resolving to stop again and again, three days in a row... he so wasn’t.

God _damn_ , he was as bad as Marcus. In a very different way, but it didn’t make him any less of a completely selfish bastard. 

If he couldn’t stop himself, maybe he needed to give in and admit he needed help. Talk to Karla about it, maybe. Tendo too. Hit up the online community for biologists and zoologists, even. 

Yeah. Yeah. He’d do that. He couldn’t keep doing this; it was getting worse and it was _hurting_ Hermann. Maybe not directly or obviously, but fuck him for being such a dick to his specimen when he knew better. 

Tendo was off shift today. Newt glanced at the plastic. He’d probably come by and they could talk. Even if it always left Newt feeling _worse_ , he wanted, _needed_ to see his friend. Tendo would help talk him through this then. If Tendo didn’t bring donuts again. 

That had just been too much, on top of all the other gifts of food. Even though it hadn’t been the first treat Tendo had brought, it was the memory of the last time Tendo had brought donuts and--

And it hadn’t really been the donuts. Most of it had been the promise, smooth and easy, that Tendo would get him a whole dozen of his favorite flavor once he was healthy again. As if Newt wasn’t going to disappoint the implicit assumption that he would get well. As if it wasn’t a no-risk, empty promise because Tendo wouldn’t even get the chance to try to fulfill it. As if Tendo was really truly looking forward to spoiling him with such an awesome treat instead of just offering a bribe to encourage him to work harder. As if Tendo truly, deeply _cared_.

But he did, because Tendo wasn’t like the frat boys and kids and scientists and professors that liked him well enough, but only for a while. Only when he was useful and convenient, a hip genius to parade around or a notch on the belt or bedpost. Something easy to end when Newt inevitably got too attached, or his personality proved too annoying, or he was too lost in his own brain and selfish ego to care about what was good for them. And sometimes Newt _despised_ Tendo, because it had hurt so much less when he didn’t have to admit that he was really _that_ unpleasant to be around, and could go on thinking he was just too damn awesome and smart for them.

The fist thoughts had him simmering with familiar resentment and that followed up with a cocktail of guilt and--

Newt was glad only Hermann had been there to witness Newt bawling his eyes out when all of those feeling really hit him. 

Tendo was right. He really was a monumental fuck-up. 

Well, so much for the sort of even keel he’d been on so far today. His mood had just completely bottomed out. Newt needed a pick me up, to forget for even a few minutes. 

And his traitorous brain immediately flashed to playing with Hermann, and seeing if they could get some more question and answer singing going on. 

No. Nope. He wasn’t going to make this even worse. No matter how much everything else was grayed out and had lost appeal. 

Actually, thinking of singing, he hadn’t had his music going in a while. Maybe... Hell, maybe it would give his brain a jump-start. At the very least, he could pull out his special mix playlist and _feel_ good, for a little bit. 

Newt grabbed his earbuds, and after a moment’s hesitation, gave up on all pretense. Off came shoes and pants, tie and shirt. He left his socks on because the floor was cold, and curled around his pillow. He had to fumble with his I-Pod for a minute, but finally the bass started vibrating right into his jawbone, followed by the pounding beat of percussion. By the time the melody line and the vocals kicked in, Newt was thrumming. Literally. 

It was better than being high or drunk, because his mind stayed clear as crystal, but the _feeling_. It started almost like a hum, buzzing along the nape of his neck. All his hair started standing on end, and he started to feel warm and tingly all over. But especially up and down his spine. It was best right at the nape of his neck and down in the small of his back, pulsing and swirling with the beat of the music. 

Very few songs did it for him, and Newt treasured the ones that did. When the guitars and bass beat of the first song segued into the rising chords of the piano concerto that was song two, Newt was almost shaking. His face was pressed into the pillow he was clutching and his thighs rubbed together as he squirmed. The less frenetic pace of the concerto eased him back down to a less intense level, though, and held him there on a nice, long plateau. 

Newt felt relaxed, and the bad thoughts bumping around in his head were easier to shove off. Sometimes he danced while doing this, and the first time he’d shown Tendo the special mix, he’d ground and bopped around the room with him. He’d loved every second of the music and how Tendo felt moving with and against him, turning the feeling into _hotness_. Tendo had fucked him hard damn near through the mattress after, while the last aftershocks of the feeling still sparked up and down his spine. Newt had been overwhelmed, and come nearly screaming into Tendo’s hand, with Tendo’s weight feeling like a welcoming anchor holding him down to earth, and Tendo’s rapid breaths against his neck almost echoing the tingle of the feeling. 

It was way too intense to make a regular thing of, so the next time, Newt had curled on Tendo’s lap after a really nice hand-job and let the sex afterglow slide nice and easy into the feeling as the bassline thumped through them both. He’d shivered and sighed and kneaded his hands into Tendo’s shoulders while Tendo hummed along with the song, and lazily left a necklace of hickies all around the base of his neck.

That was probably his favorite way to bask in the feeling, lounging quiet and--kind of--still and focusing on it thrumming though him. The rest of the times he and Tendo had enjoyed the special mix together--though Tendo, sadly, didn’t get the _feeling_ feeling--they hadn’t even thought of sex and just enjoyed each other’s company. Newt’s hands liked to flex, almost of their own accord, so Newt had figured out how to make that into back rubs and neck rubs for Tendo, who loved them at any time but called him “inspired” when he gave them while buzzing with the feeling. 

Newt really wished Tendo was here, because the pillow super _sucked_ as a substitute, but the feeling took the edge off the loneliness. So he could think about Tendo without feeling like he’d been hollowed out with a rusty spork and filled back up again with straight lye. 

The feeling was so good. If only he could just drown out the world and bask in it forever. 

But he did have work to do. He had to find a way to test his crazy theory. Isolate and map out the chemical structure of each of those toxins and--Had anyone actually done that? Sure, most people didn’t have access to the Milking Machine, mostly because Newt had invented it himself from scratch, but analyzing and mapping wasn’t impossible without his invention. Just harder and with more steps. Maybe he should slap a patent on it and sell it to labs around the country. Couple hundred bucks a pop. Or maybe a little more to cover the cost of manufacture. 

Newt totally didn’t remember such a detailed analysis in any of the reports. Most of them had been very focused on the results and hadn’t gone further than every basic chemical make-up. He’d have to do it, then. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? 

It didn’t matter. He’d thought of it now. He could even compare the Type III toxins to some of the other samples he’d gotten, and everything he’d mapped out from the Kaiju tissues he’d run through his machine. All kinds of analyzing to do. 

It was a plan! And it felt _awesome_ to have a plan. 

Newt hummed along with the song lighting up his spine like Vegas and rubbed his cheek against the pillow. He still had it--

Wait, what was that?

Newt looked up and saw--

“Tendo!”

TendoTendoTendo-- He felt a moment of regret when the earbuds popped out and the feeling started to fade, but Tendo was standing right there and knocking on the plastic and Newt needed to be there right _now_.

Tendo had a soft smile on and pressed both of his hands to the plastic. “Hey, how’s it going?”

Newt met those hands, wishing so hard he could feel more than plastic and pressure. Then he pressed his forehead to the plastic too. After a moment Tendo mirrored him, and Newt couldn’t see much anymore, but that was okay. It was enough--no, it wasn’t. it so _fucking_ wasn’t--for now. “You want the real answer or the standard one?” 

“You shouldn’t have to ask, my man.” 

The real answer then. Goddamn. Well, he could talk about Hermann, at least. “Not good. We’re not making any progress. It’s almost negative progress at this point. The Blue is coming back--” 

He took a shaky breath and could feel Tendo’s fingers flexing against the plastic, like his friend wanted to grab his hand. How he wanted that. 

“I can see it, yeah. It looks awful. But you can’t expect huge progress in less than two weeks. Didn’t you tell me once that good research took time?” 

“Yeah. But we don’t _have_ time, don’t you get it? Clock’s ticking; the bomb is going to go off, and it’s not as simple as finding the right wires to cut. We’ve got to put together the whole damn schematic just from _looking_ first, and--”

“Breathe.” 

Screw him. “Shut up. I can panic if I fucking want to.” 

The silence stretched, and he felt the pressure lesson. No. Shit. “Sorry! I’m just... It’s really not a good day.” 

“Hey. Hey. Yeah, I know.” Tendo leaned again, and it had to be hard for him to breathe, so close to the plastic--it was hard for Newt--but the plastic started to warm once Tendo was leaning his whole body against it. Tendo broke the silence a minute later, and Tendo was breaking the silence a lot lately. “But there has to be something good. How are you and Hermann getting along?”

Ow. _Ow_. Newt tried to laugh it off, but it came out as more of a sob. “God, Tendo, I’m such a dick. I’m a bastard. I’m just as bad as that shit Marcus.” 

Most of Tendo didn’t move, but Newt could tell he’d pulled back enough to get a good look. “What? I don’t-- Okay, give me the explanation. What do you think you’ve done?”

“Not think! I’ve been using him-- He’ll never be releasable, even if he _lives_. I’ve completely screwed up his chances at living in the wild ever again. It’s all my fucking fault and I can’t even _stop_. I know it’s wrong and it’s sure as hell hurting him, but I can’t even stop.” Definitely sobs. Pre-sobs. His throat was tight, but he wasn’t crying yet, at least. Still. Shit. 

“Newt. _Newt_!” How long had Tendo been saying his name? His tone sounded weird, tight and just... weird. “What, exactly, have you done?” 

“Human fucking contact. You’re really not supposed to. I’ve been treating him like a pet! Petting and scratching his fur and encouraging him to rub against me and--”

He was shaking a little, filled with a sick feeling. He was an animal abuser. Tendo just pressed firmer against the plastic for a minute or two and his voice sounded...relieved?

“So it’s just more of what you were doing the day of the debridement? You told me his species was probably big on contact. I don’t see how giving it to him is a bad thing for either of you.” 

“I’m _ruining_ him. Wild animals can’t bond with humans! If they do, they can’t return to the wild, because they won’t be afraid anymore and they’ll seek out humans. Start depending on them for food, hell, Hermann I think has started to see me like one of his own species and that’s really, really _bad_. Don’t you see? Because of me he’ll be in a tank for the rest of his life. Even if I stop now, he probably won’t be broken of-- Damn, I’m such a dick.” 

Tendo had that “you’re being unreasonable, but I’m being patient” tone that Newt was so familiar with. “Does contact with Hermann help you? I mean, do you feel better, can you focus more, that kind of thing? Answer honestly.”

Did it? Probably. Probably, definitely. “Yeah. I think, maybe.” 

“Do you, or did you ever _make_ him stay put to be touched, or make him touch you before giving him food or whatever?” 

“No? I mean he’s been greeting me with cheek rubs when I get up the ladder to the tank and--”

“And?”

“He gave me some of his food and nudged at my stomach. I... Don’t know. I _don’t_ know. What if he’s afraid I’ll hurt him or stop feeding him if he doesn’t act like this? What if--?” Newt swallowed. “I didn’t _mean_ to. I didn’t mean it! I just wasn’t really thinking except that it was cool that he was less afraid of me and, oh god--” 

Tendo hummed, but Newt couldn’t make sense of the sound. “Explain the food giving incident.” 

“Well, he... he nudged my stomach first, you know? Kind of like a cross between a cheek rub and head butt. And then he grabbed some of the fish off the tray I was bringing and shoved it into my hand. He got really happy and started eating a lot more when I started making sure I ate all of my food in front of him.” 

Tendo was smiling when Newt looked up. “Newt, my man, I am pretty sure he’s not afraid of you at all. In fact, I think he’s adopted you as his...pup? or whatever you’d call a baby of his species. Look, he tried to groom you, and he’s been trying to feed you. Sounds like parental care to me.”

“That’s not any better at all!” Whoops, he’d yelled and he mourned the loss of the contact immediately when it made Tendo step back a little. 

“Okay, look.” Tendo was standing straight now, like he was in the presence of the Marshall. That was his best serious face too. “I get it. This isn’t an ideal situation, but Newt, you’re not hurting him. So maybe we’ll have to get him a home in some place that takes really good care of animals instead of sticking him back in the Pacific. A zoo or aquarium, or whatever. But you’re saving his life, and that has to count for way more than where he ends up spending it. If keeping him as a pet helps you, and helps you stay focused on finding this cure to save _you both_ , I don’t give a damn if he’s ruined for the wild. It sounds like this little relationship is helping you both stay strong and be healthier. God knows you weren’t listening to me or Karla about eating more.”

“So you’re saying, sacrifice his future for me?” Newt felt like he was vibrating with sick... he didn’t know what. 

“If we have to, yeah. He’s an animal and you’re a person. I like him; I think he’s kind of cute. But you’re my friend and I will do just about anything to make sure you get through this.” Tendo was smiling. Why was Tendo smiling? It didn’t feel...

“Why? Why will you do anything? Why do you care?” His voice was all high and scratchier than usual. Damn. No, he didn’t mean to let that out.

Tendo rolled his eyes. “Because you’re my friend and I care about you, dumbass. We’ve gone over this before.” 

Anger. He was definitely feeling sick anger. “Why? I’m a monumental fuckup. I’m a worthless human being. I’m a dick. I’m an egotistical maniac. I’m no good for your stress levels on a normal day, much less when I’m fucking _dying_ on you. I’m going to be leaving you! Why the hell are you still here and dragging it out when you should have dumped me ages ago? You’ve said it yourself, I’m impossible! I’m an emotional leech! Completely socially inept! I’m addicted to contact and sex! I’m self-destructive and an asshole and--” 

He wasn’t really hearing himself scream anymore, memories pulling up and shoving out of his mouth every thing Tendo had ever said that hurt, that stung, that he’d ignored or brushed off, because Tendo was his friend, and Tendo was trying to help him be less of a mess. 

“Newt.” 

That was what stopped him, that tiny small repetition of his name. It probably hadn’t been the first time Tendo had said it, and Tendo was several steps back now. Newt immediately regretted everything and was aching for that contact back. God damn, he was so fucked up. Tendo took another step back, then another. Shit. No.

“Wait. Please! I didn’t--” Newt was begging, and when had he started crying? “I’m not mad! I don’t blame you. I just-- I’m sorry. I don’t blame you for any of it, I really don’t!” 

“That’s...” Tendo visibly swallowed, and Newt had never seen him looking so pale. “That’s the fucking problem, my man. I’m sorry.” 

Then he turned around and fuck, no, please, _no_ \--

Newt didn’t know when he ended up on his ass, clutching at the plastic, but for the second time in less than a week, he was bawling his fucking eyes out. 

Across the lab he heard Hermann making distressed noises, but he couldn’t even fucking go and give com--no, hurt Hermann more too. 

Maybe he should just... stop. He really did ruin everything he cared about.


	10. Someone to Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually supposed to be part of the last chapter, but I wanted to look up a few things before posting this part. 
> 
> And it doesn't really fit well beginning the next chapter, so I'm posting it on its own. It's almost as long as some chapters anyway!
> 
> Warnings: In addition to the work warnings, this chapter also has medical procedures without informed consent, grooming with dubious consent, and attempted clothes removal without consent. The language barrier is the primary cause for these.

**Day 18, ???**

He wished for a better way to tell time, because without the sun and moon it was impossible. Had three days passed? Less? More? He couldn’t say, but it was time spent in a whole new kind of agony. 

It had all started with a visit from his monster’s mate. She had been so excited at first, but as they sang back and forth she grew more and more upset, until he just went away and left her, wailing on the floor. 

They might have been arguing about him. Things had certainly changed, since. She refused to touch him now, except when she absolutely had to, to use the claws or for some other healer ritual. She _wanted_ to, he could tell. She would lean towards him, again and again, or reach out her paw before drawing it back suddenly like she was hurt. 

Worse, she had all but stopped eating. _Again_. The other female had even had to sing at her for quite a while to get her out of her nest when the other female had first returned after the fight. It hurt to watch, and he could do nothing at all to help. 

It reminded him of how he’d been able to do nothing for his mate, and oh, how the comparison sunk angry, hurt claws into his mind and tore at him. Being helpless was the worst kind of existence 

His monster had not stopped working on whatever it was, so there was that fact, but there was still something... 

And the other female often stared at her with downturned mouth while his monster wasn’t looking, but whatever was on her mind, she wasn’t singing it at his monster to solve whatever it was making them both unhappy. 

Worst, he spent all that time almost able to _see_ the blue rot spreading over her neck. Each time he looked, it felt like the rot had spread a little further. His own injuries were rotting again too, but her delicate skin showed the rot much more clearly. 

And today--tonight?--she and the other female were busy moving platforms and objects around. They were clearing a space in the cave, but for what? 

He wanted to sing out to his monster, but she had been giving him such wide-eyed, unhappy looks when he sang ever since he’d tried to get her to sing the silly childhood rhymes back and forth again. She had seemed so _happy_ too, when they’d played the singing game before, that he’d thought if he couldn’t ease her pain with touch, that maybe singing would help. But it had done the opposite, and she had fled to her nest to put little shells into her ears--he assumed that’s what they were, like sea lions--for a while. 

He’d tried to keep quiet since; there was no need to make her even more upset. But it hurt and he thought he might knock her mate over, if he ever showed his face again at the cave. It was her mate’s fault, clearly. 

Then a commotion drew his attention. Several monsters, hidden in false skins that even covered their heads, were bringing in something very large and heavy looking. It looked like it had a perfectly round tunnel through a thick standing wall, and there was a thin platform extending out from and partway through the tunnel. There were also plenty of strange cords and other objects. The monsters scurried about, but the strangers sang sharp and strong at his monster when she tried to help, so she just retreated and stood stiffly by to watch. 

Finally, the other monsters retreated from the cave, leaving the object behind. The other female fluttered around and over it, pressing things with her paws. Meanwhile, his monster... stripped out of her false skins, while facing him. He covered his eyes with his paws, not wanting to see. 

But he shouldn’t have worried, because she stopped at the covering over her hips and slit and then put another loose skin over herself. It covered most of her, though it was prone to falling open at the back. Then she pulled off that last covering and let it fall to gather around her hind paws before finally stepping out of it a moment later.

He hadn’t been very good at not looking. Not one bit. 

And then he saw her back with nothing covering it where the loose skin gaped open. The part of her back where her legs connected to her body was very odd-looking. Round-ish protrusions of muscle, split by a valley between, that looked soft, but flexed as she walked over to the object. Given how they liked to settle themselves on the base of their backs and backs of their upper hind legs, maybe those muscular cushions of flesh made sense. 

The other female had been doing something while he was distracted by his monster, and gestured for her to stretch out on something laid over the platform now. His monster did, stretching out on her back with her forearms raised over her her head to rest against the platform too. The other female kept singing short phrases, while his monster adjusted her limbs here and there, but eventually they both looked satisfied. 

He was wondering what kind of ritual this was when the platform his monster was stretched out on _moved_. So did parts of the tunnel. His monster was being pulled through it, and he did not like the sounds it was making one bit. 

Only the other female turned and looked when he sang out his concern, because his monster was holding herself so still that he couldn’t even see her breathing. 

But then the platform moved back to its former position and his monster started singing. The other female answered and then used a not-stone claw to put some fluid into her body. There was quite an amount and he was surprised that it all fit into her forelimb without _some_ sign.

They sang back and forth for a while, his monster shuddering and squirming, but finally his monster resumed the stretched out pose. The object and the platform moved again, and she held so very still, again. What a strange ritual! It wasn’t hurting her at all, he was relieved to notice, but what was it _for_?

He couldn’t see a purpose, and turned an agitated loop, churning his paws in the water while he thought it over. He got an answer quickly, once his monster had put her false-skins back on. The other female had returned to poking and pawing at the object, and then suddenly the cave lit up. She had pulled up one of the impressions that the monsters were so fond of and put _everywhere_. This one hung in the air, like strands of seaweed made of light floating in the sea. 

Mostly, he had no idea what the impressions meant, though they obviously meant all kinds of things to the monsters. But this one, like the impression of the sea from before, was immediately obvious. It was an impression in the shape of a monster, limed in glowing traceries and filled with different colored lights. It was exactly the size of his monster. No, it _was_ an impression of his monster, he realized. How had they even made such a thing? 

The colors were pretty, green and red, orange and yellow, with a few spots of blue here and there. It moved and turned when the monsters’ paws passed through it, as if his monster’s body was right there and rolling over on command. It was strange, but as lovely as the night-time sky-lights over the most far northern seas. During his solitary wanderings he’d traveled far enough to see them once, and nearly died from happiness and a wish to swim up to the stars and dance with them. A childish wish, perhaps, but a wish that still slept in the back of his mind all the same. 

Then the other female moved her paw over the spots of blue on the lines of light that outlined the neck, and his monster’s mouth turned far, far down. She placed her paw over the corresponding spot, where the rot was spreading vile and blu--oh. Now he knew what this ritual was for, and if he’d had even a doubt that this was surely an impression of his monster’s body, that would have cleared it away. 

This ritual somehow showed how the rot had attacked her body. The impression, wondrous, laid out all of her body as if she had been made transparent, showing all her inner parts beneath lines that represented her skin. He was no healer, himself, so most of what was inside her was just mysterious lines of color, but he was a hunter, and he thought he recognized the shape of a heart, and the tightly curled masses of color in the belly area must be the viscera. But the blue... There was more of it than he would have expected. 

It spread over the lines denoting her skin in the same places he’d seen it eating away at her with his own eyes, but worse, it also dug inside, and on the neck, blue lines stretched towards what he thought might be the pathways she breathed air through, and swallowed her food with. 

They both pawed at the impression, finding more and more blue spots while he watched, most of them hidden deep inside and far from the skin. Some were so tiny that they could hardly be seen, but others were larger than the tips of their digits. One, still tiny, down quite low inside her belly made her make such an unhappy noise, and press her paw to the spot. He wished he could be out of the shell to comfort her, because what else could it be but rot that would threaten the child she was--still just probably--nurturing as it spread? It was to her right side, but so low, and who knew exactly where the secret inside pouch for newly forming children was on monsters? He was sure it was there, but he couldn’t get a measure of all the different lights and what they represented. From a distance he couldn’t even figure out how the lights lined her--

He was _not_ going to think about it. Or look. 

Besides, she was shaking her head at the other female and turning towards him. All of a sudden he realized that he was going to get his wish to be out of the shell. He recognized that object she’d just scooped up into her paws.

He buzzed with impatience as she got together the loop and claws, and carefully lowered it into the water. He swam in without hesitation, watching how she touched the object as he was lifted free and carried over to the object. But to his surprise, she settled him down on the floor next to it, instead of on the platform, which he was now sure was going to happen. He braced himself on three legs and his tail, nearly quivering with that same impatience mixed with confusion, while water dripped freely from his fur and scales. He had to ask.

“What are you up to, my monster?” 

She sang back at him, soft and careful, as she approached with the false-fur-- Oh. Of course, the monsters really didn’t like their clever objects to get wet. Even a drop of water on certain things could make them scramble to dry the water off. He wasn’t sure how well the false-fur would work for drying _him_ though, but the burst of relief that he could finally touch her and comfort her overrode his concerns. 

If he got dry, he got dry, and if he didn’t, well, that was their problem. 

So he stretched his head out towards her and crooned in his most comforting tones as she rubbed the false-fur over him. It did feel nice even if it was doubtful that it was getting him very dry, and he had to resist the urge to pull her down against him so that they could bask in the comfort of each other’s presences. Best to let her finish her task first. 

She was very careful with his belly, only looping the false-fur under him and gently pressing it to him by pulling up on the very ends. It felt not unlike how the loop carried him, and not very intimate at all, and he was glad of her courtesy. It worked better than he would have thought, and left him merely damp instead of soaking.

When she was done and the false-fur all but dripping wet, she came back around to his head with slow steps and hesitated just in reach. She’d set the little object down on the platform, and she glanced at it, like she was going to get it to lift him onto the platform. But her mouth was turned far down and she looked so--

He wasn’t going to float still with the currents and just let this happen. So he took an awkward hop forward and rubbed his jaw against hers. She went still and almost trembled with all the tension tightening up her body. How to show her that this was a good thing and a comfort for both of them? 

Well, there was one thing he could think of, and he wanted to share in her pain and give comfort as much as he could anyway, to at least try to ease the burden. It was hard to shift his weight with his one leg so injured, and his tail would surely be sore tomorrow, but he managed after only a little wobbling to lift a forepaw up and press it gently to that spot on her belly. He rubbed against her jaw again and tried his best to put all his sympathy and concern into his song. 

“My monster, I’m so sorry. I wish I could remove this rot that threatens you. I’m so sorry--”

She gasped at the touch and then placed her paw over his. The other female sang something behind them when his monster tensed again a moment later, and as if in response to the other female’s song, she just sagged towards him like her legs weren’t holding her up. 

“Oh, my monster. Come. Let me-- Let the pain float away. Shh.” 

He was just babbling whatever soothing words he could think of and probably not making much sense, but she didn’t understand anyway. Her scent was stronger now, he noticed, because she had been neglecting to even wash herself after she cleaned out the shell. Stronger, it was almost more pleasant, but the lack of washing was something he _could_ help with. 

He pulled and pushed, feeling a moment of concern when she stumbled, but it was so much easier when she was on the cave floor, and he could settle on his belly to rest his tail. It was a little difficult to settle himself without jarring his leg, but then she was curled between his forelegs like a child and little else mattered but smoothing out her fur. 

She made little protests at first, or that was what he was assuming they were, but still leaned in in spite of them. So he shifted so that he could curl his forelimbs around her, because he remembered her mate doing that and guessed it was a soothing action. It was nice, but he still had to huff. Her fur seemed even more unruly than he remembered. He had to admit defeat because it just would _not_ lie neatly, as if it grew in all different directions instead of just a couple sensible ones like fur should, but he didn’t want to stop completely either. It was so relaxing. He felt warm, and all the worries and grief slipped a little further away. He hoped she was feeling the same. 

So he didn’t stop. Skin was much easier to groom--it probably didn’t truly need it--and he discovered her skin was covered in very tiny hairs, like a soft, sparse fuzz. He hadn’t noticed before because they were almost invisible except on her jaw, where they grew stiff, thicker and bristly. Very short whiskers? He’d seen her grooming them a few times after she’d just woken up, running something over her jaw that made them all but disappear. 

Maybe they were, but the joyful sound she made as he licked over her strangely shaped snout was more important than figuring that out right now. He avoided her mouth, remembering what had happened that one time, and hit suddenly by the thought that maybe it had been that incident causing the rift between her and her mate. He also avoided the spots of rot that she’d been leaving uncovered for a while now. If it had been any other wound, he would have carefully licked it clean as healers advised, but it would do nothing to help the rot, and he had no interest in risking rot to his tongue for no gain. But everywhere else, he was making sure to carefully groom, even...

Well, it was intimate to groom that soft, tender spot under her muzzle, and down the front of her throat but damn the consequences to the darkest deep. She had offered her throat to him, even if she hadn’t _meant_ it, and he was grooming her more like a child than a mate right now, and it was acceptable for a child... And she wasn’t protesting. 

She had gone pliant, little shivers going through her now and then, and her breath coming in slow, deep pulls that moved all of her chest and belly. It was the most still and relaxed that he thought he’d ever seen her. 

But he ran out of her skin to groom quickly, thwarted by the false-skin over her. He nosed under it to continue and she let out a high, scratchy noise and then called out. It was the same call she used to get the attention of the female when they were doing things across the cave from each other. He didn’t know why she made the call, but the other female just made a short, joyful sound in response. 

He ran out of room almost immediately and felt a moment of loss. She was relaxed, and so was he, but-- Wait, she removed the false-skins easily enough all the time!

He nuzzled her chest, trying to figure out how she held the false-skin on her. She squirmed, but the the answer was immediately obvious now that he was looking for it. There were small, round, flattened disks that were like carved slivers of shell, each fit through a thin, slitted opening in the skin. How clever!

They would hold in place unless they were pulled on to stretch the holes so that the disk slipped through, but it would only take just the right tugs to do that. 

So he did it. A tug on the skin in just the right way wouldn’t be hard at all, and it wasn’t. He pressed his muzzle against the skin to hold one part of the skin in place and caught the other piece between two clawtips. A twist, a tug, and-- 

She yelped loudly when the disk came free, and the breath she gasped out hissed free when he began grooming the newly exposed skin on her shoulders and the upper part of her chest. 

Unfortunately she wasn’t so relaxed anymore. Still, and shaking with it, she babbled out the call to catch the other female’s attention twice in quick succession, followed by a different call. By the currents, he’d startled her very badly. 

He hadn’t meant to, so he crooned a soft, wordless note in hopes of easing her anxiety as he groomed more, but she only tensed even further and started to pull away. This was obviously so very not acceptable to them and he’d swam into forbidden waters.

Damn him to the darkest deep. “My monster, I didn’t mean-- I’m sorry.” 

It was surprisingly much harder to put the little disk back into the opening so he settled for just getting it halfway through. It would mostly hold, as long as she didn’t move too much, and he didn’t dare more because she was almost whimpering the same pattern over and over. 

Guilt clawed at him and he searched for something that would show her he meant nothing bad and just had wanted to give comfort. Well, it had helped before. He shifted again to put his forelegs loosely around her and rubbed his jaw against hers. A flash of inspiration hit and he continued by singing out the first part of the childhood rhyme that she’d mastered. 

She sang something halting at the other female, who sang back, instead. 

The second time, she was silent, still stiff and uncomfortable, but on the third try, she hesitantly repeated her part and he rubbed his jaw against hers again, so happy that she remembered. 

Then he sang the next part and felt her finally relax as she sang back. Relief flooded him and he kept singing until he ran out of the rhymes that she’d picked up. 

Sometime during the singing, she curled against him and her paws started trailing through the fur on the back of his neck. It wasn’t quite grooming, but with their short necks, maybe they always groomed with paws alone, instead of just using paws to aid the tongue. She did wash mostly with her paws and the help of a small scrap of false-fur, after all. 

It felt quite pleasant, regardless, as did the pressure of her jaw against the side of his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the peaceful feeling, but then a small sound attracted his attention. 

Her mate was at the flexible shell, and through it he could see a strange...shadow? on the male’s face. 

No. She’d _just_ relaxed after that last fight with her mate. He wasn’t going to let his monster be upset like that again, and he knew if he tried he could knock her mate down and show the other male the error of his ways. 

If the monster stayed still while he limped and hobbled over, maybe. But, regardless! He wasn’t going to let the foolish cad come back and make his monster upset again by arguing over him, or whatever the argument had been about. He was careful not to move too much and disturb his monster, but he looked right at her fool mate and bared his teeth in clear threat. 

The other female appeared in his line of sight, moving in between him and the flexible shell, then glancing back and forth. She looked tense, and her mouth was turned down. 

His monster’s mate moved, towards were the shell could be shifted to get in and out of the cave, and his intention was obvious. 

The fool. He snapped his teeth at the male monster, covering it up by crooning soft at his monster and sparing a moment to rub his jaw against her back. Then, to make sure he’d conveyed his point, he lifted his head a bared his teeth again. 

Even if they didn’t understand his song, surely _that_ should make things clear, right? 

And if that stupid male upset her--were they even mates, after that fight?--then by the currents, he would--

Suddenly, the other female moved to the flexible shell and pulled it aside. She sang something so soft that he could barely hear at the male and shook her head from side to side. 

With nothing in the way, he saw that the shadow wasn’t a shadow at all, but a smear of darkening blood over the monster’s strange muzzle and mouth. The fool male was still looking right at him and he lashed his tail as much as he dared to continue displaying his intent where the fool was concerned. He even licked his teeth so that they’d shine more in the light of the cave.

The fool was holding his paw, the one with the measure wrapped around it, to his chest, and it was so hard to make sense of monster faces, but he looked...upset? Worried? 

Perhaps, just perhaps, he was being unfair to the fool. But he wasn’t going to risk his monster getting so upset again, so he didn’t back down with his threat display. 

The other female was still singing softly, over by the entrance, then put her paws on the fool’s shoulders and pushed. Gently, it looked like, but he was pleased to see that the other female was sharing in his opinions. 

He missed what happened next with them, because his monster seemed to realize something was going on and lifted her head. Before she could see, he crooned, and made a point of rubbing his jaw against her. It wouldn’t do at all for her to catch sight of the fool and get upset again. 

Then the other female was close again and singing something. The flexible shell was back over the entrance to the cave and there was no sign that the fool had come to visit. Good. His monster pulled back reluctantly, he was so pleased to notice, at the singing and looked over towards the object.

Right. They’d brought him out of his shell to make an impression of his insides. Would it work for him like it worked for the monsters? He didn’t know, but he had to admit, he was eager to find out. 

He could help with this, too. It took effort to get back on his paws and he almost groaned as pain lanced through his leg when he overbalanced, but the platform was close and not too far from the ground. There should be no difficulties.

But, once he got to it, he realized that maybe he’d overestimated himself, because it was much more difficult than he could have imagined. Curse his leg; there would have been no difficulties at all, otherwise. He still managed, and only bumped his leg a little, and preening with well-deserved pride, looked back at the monsters to see what they thought. 

Both of them had their mouths open, and looked at him with wide eyes. It was such a silly look that he laughed. 

His monster was at his side immediately, and ran her paws through his fur, singing rapidly. Her mouth was upturned and he quite enjoyed the obvious pleasure--happiness or something more?--in her voice. 

She kept her paws stroking over him while she and the other female exchanged rapid bursts of song. He was so _glad_ that she’d overcome whatever had been stopping her from touching him, at least for now. What they were discussing, on the other current, he had no idea, but when they were done they bobbed their heads up and down at each other. 

Then his monster got beside him and with her paws on either side of him--and that did feel nice, so no wonder monsters wrapped their forelegs around each other for comfort--and exercised a gentle push-pull pressure. Oh. She wanted him on his side. Well, it would be easier than on his back like she had laid down on the platform. He wasn’t looking forward to getting back up after, though. 

Remembering how the other female had nudged his monster around until satisfied, he didn’t complain when his monster started to nudge him in the same ways. He ended up as stretched out as could be, but the platform wasn’t long enough for his full length, so she’d pulled as gentle as anything at his tail until it was curled around and tucked up nearly against his belly. That wasn’t very comfortable, but he wouldn’t hold it against her.

Then came moving through the tunnel. He liked it even less up close, but reciting the measures of the moon in his head helped him stay still. After, came the prick of whatever liquid had been put in his monster. Again, it looked like too much to be believed, but somehow they got it all in. 

And it-- It felt like liquid sunlight running through him, filling him up. He could _feel_ it moving and spreading out from where they’d put the liquid in him, and the heat decided to settle between his legs. It didn’t hurt, but it felt so _strange_ and almost like--

Better not to think about _that_. 

Being put through the tunnel again was a distraction from the feeling, at least, and then he watched eagerly as they both poked at the object. 

He was more than curious to see the impression of his body, and it took effort not to wriggle like an excited child. 

Finally, colors shimmered into the air and he struggled to his belly to see properly. It was such a wonder, and he could see how the object had gotten his measures perfect. How did they even make lights in the air like that? How did they see inside his body? How--

So many questions! He didn’t know how to ask them, or where to look for answers, but he could stretch out his neck and prod at the lights with his snout. When he did, he felt _something_ a little odd in his tendrils, like a trickle of water dripping down a beach stone after getting soaked with a wave. So strange. 

The impression changed when he’d poked at it, like his monster’s had. It turned, as if his body had rolled in the water, but stiff and frozen in that uncomfortable position. Not natural at all, but it was an impression for healers to look and see the insides of the body, so he supposed it was good enough. 

He could see the outlines of his skin, fur, and scales, and his heart, viscera and gills. And there were so many other things in him that he had no names for. He could guess for some, like the other paired things so close to where his gills were in his chest. Those had to be his lungs. They were connected by a pathway going up his throat and to his nostrils, which confirmed the guess. 

And it was very strange to see _inside_ his gills. They looked like they were coral made of flesh, and the reddish lights traveling out from his heart and all through his body, but especially through them and his probably lungs, must be veins. 

There wasn’t much else he recognized, except... Well, he tried not to look, but he couldn’t help but take a peek. There, delicately traced in light was how his masculine member looked when it was inside his slit, along with other things he couldn’t name. Who knew the inside of the slit had so many things there? He certainly didn’t remember ever feeling... but his member probably wouldn’t reach most of them even if he had been looking and concentrating on such things instead of pleasure at the time. 

It was all a little overwhelming. The inside of his body was far more complicated than he’d ever imagined, and to measure it so well, the monsters must be far smarter than he could have imagined either. But, they were both making mournful noises and had downturned mouths at all the blue in the impression. 

All the rot that was growing inside his body. 

The insides of his gills were riddled with tiny blue spots and streaks, and there was blue thick and glaring in spots and vein-like patterns in his injured leg. Even inside what he knew must be the representation of his bones. No wonder he was in such pain. He knew they had been badly broken, and there were dents and darker lights that looked like cracks through the large one in his upper leg. The ends, where he knew it had been so badly broken that it was about to tear through skin, didn’t line up right, and it looked crooked and not at all like the ancestral healing bones used to bind broken bones up and remind them how to be. The lower leg was almost as bad, so dark with cracks and chips of it, well, broken _off_ in places, and the bone was so much thinner in one area that it looked like it might snap if he ever put weight on it again. And there were even cracks in the bones of his paw, though not so bad. 

Worse than the cracks and breaks was all the blue rot. It was everywhere in the bones of his leg, but specially where the cracks and breaks were. The rot was eating away his bones and his whole leg. Oh Moon-mother... 

His monster was putting her paw to the broken spots in the impression and looked the way she had before she started wailing. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault. It was the fault of the vile one, and the large males that had held him down and twisted his leg until it cracked. And the fault of heavy not-stone object they’d hit him with when he’d nearly gutted one of them in his first attempt to escape, and again when he was mourning his mate’s death. 

He couldn’t explain, didn’t want to put the memories into words, but he tried to give some comfort anyway. “Oh, my monster. I don’t blame you. Bones are so difficult to heal.” 

He rubbed his jaw against hers as he said it, but her expression didn’t brighten any. The other female was singing too, and had come forward to put a paw to his monster’s shoulder. After a long, long moment and more singing from the other female, his monster started to relax and rubbed her jaw back against him. She was still very upset, but at least she wasn’t wailing. 

How long they stood like that, all three, he wasn’t sure, but eventually the other female glanced down at the little paw-sized device she had. It was similar to his monster’s, and he assumed would show different impressions when touched and sometimes make sounds. Or vibrate, in the case of the other female’s. 

The other female sang something and started to leave after looking at the impression her touch brought up. His monster stared after her for a while, but then pulled back and bundled him up to be carried back to the shell with her clever loop. 

She still looked troubled the whole way, and he was sure no small part of it was all the blue in both of them and the poor healing of his leg, but after he was in the water again, she climbed up to the edge of the shell and leaned over. 

He happily lifted himself up and she rubbed her jaw against his. That, at least, was back to something good. They could share these comforts with each other again, and that was better than he could have thought something so simple could be, at least before his mate, and now, his monster too. 

The blue rot was not a change. He knew that the end was coming, and that nothing the monsters could do would stop it. There was no more, and no _less_ , hope now than before the discovery of all the blue in them, but now, she wasn’t denying him and they had each other as... admittedly strange groupmates.

In this place, and this time, he couldn’t think of any more that he could ask Moon-mother for. It was as good as it could be, and he meant to cling to it, because much worse was coming.


	11. Decline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The warnings of the past chapters apply, as well as some really unsafe self-experimentation, and harassing behavior.

**Day 22, Newt**

Newt squeezed his hands into fists to stop the shaking. Karla was right about the trend. The toxin levels had made a huge jump in both him and Hermann since... Since Tendo. Hermann’s _might_ be leveling off again, but Newt’s...

Well, it wasn’t going to matter soon. Both kidneys, his liver, _and_ his colon, right near his appendix, and haha wasn’t _that_ funny, had lesions already. Most of them on his liver and left kidney were small, but it wasn’t looking good for making it to three months. Kidney and liver function hadn’t started going down the tubes yet, but with no way to stop the growth of the lesions--

Temporarily terminal didn’t seem so funny anymore. 

And Hermann’s gills were _riddled_ with blue. It looked almost like he’d gotten both II _and_ III, which had never been reported before. 

The only good thing was that he was almost done with a full analysis of all the foreign compounds Blue was producing in him and Hermann. 

Newt had already proven that the most common toxin _was_ a carbon-based replicate of the silicone compounds found in Kaiju themselves, especially in the skin, mucus membranes, and the piece of lung he’d gotten ahold of a few months ago. The more decay, the more of these compounds, which wasn’t a surprise, but they were also in a couple of nearly perfectly preserved chunks. Hell, he even had some live-cultured cells preserved and the tiny sample he’d risked taking from that chunk had the compounds too. 

This wasn’t out of left field, given what they knew about the silicone compounds appearing in people with Type I, since they contracted it from getting way too close and coming into contact with still living or very, very, _very_ recently dead Kaiju blood or tissue. 

But the assumption had been that it was mostly decay related, considering how people ended up with Blue, and this was proving that wrong. Newt couldn’t be one hundred ten percent sure without years of testing and hundreds of samples, but he was sure it definitely wasn’t at all decay related enough for his own sake. 

What he didn’t know, was what the hell the purpose it served in Kaiju systems. 

He had high hopes for some of the tweaks he was trying for the anti-toxin meds, regardless, thanks to his analysis. Since they’d been formulated and tested with the silicone compounds of Type I, they hadn’t worked quite right with the carbon versions, and weren’t nearly as effective. If this test worked, they would be able to stall the progress of Types II and III _much_ longer, and more completely. 

For people who didn’t already have it, and the damage that came with it.

Because it _did_ replicate itself somehow, and just rendering the compounds less harmful and more easily disposed of by the body wasn’t enough. Newt was still reeling that his initial theory was right but he had the tests to prove it. Karla had helpfully donated some of her cells and he’d tested it by adding a very _exactly_ measured amount of the Blue toxins. Three days later, there was almost triple the amount of Blue toxins and the first lesions were showing up around the edges of the tissue sample. Newt had decided to keep track of the increases, so he was keeping Karla’s cells alive and taking meticulous measurements at probably too frequent intervals, but whatever. 

These were all great discoveries. _Great_ progress. Just not enough, fast enough, for him or Hermann and--

And he’d lost his only friend, so Newt didn’t know why it mattered. He was pretty sure his parents had been mourning “his loss” since he signed up for Jaeger Academy so he could join the PPDC fighting on the front lines. The scientific ones, anyway, because Newt in a giant mech, as _awesome_ as living the manga life sounded, would be a recipe for disaster. He was pretty sure, wishing aside, that there was no way he was drift compatible with anyone, anyway.

He’d just never expected to be quite this front on the front lines, barring a captured Kaiju, and dying a noble death to send science bounding forward so hadn’t been in the plans. 

Neither had losing Tendo, even though he should have known. 

He was telling himself, and telling Karla, that distance would help Tendo cope when he finally...

When he kicked the bucket. _Say it_ , Newt. 

Karla had just given him the _saddest_ look when he’d brought it up and said right back that it wouldn’t make a difference to Tendo. And Newt had _noticed_ how she’d gone from Mr. Choi--and he’d never ever mentioned Tendo’s last name, either--to Tendo in the span of what, less than two weeks? Ish. 

He was happy for them. Really. 

_Really._

He would never be unhappy that Tendo had found a prime dream-girl candidate. He was _rooting_ for Tendo. 

He--

He was absolutely _fucking_ crushed. And jealous, a little. But only because Tendo really had _dumped_ him, and was with her now, moving on and leaving him behind. 

Alone. 

Fuck Tendo. Fuck him, and screw him over and--

And help him be really, truly happy. 

But fuck him too. 

He hadn’t even tried to come back--

...Speak of the devil. And the gift horse. 

Newt squirmed in place, wanting _so. Fucking. Bad._ To just run over and put his hands out and just ask--beg--Tendo not to leave again for a while.

Or forever. 

He was pissed at Tendo though. Tendo was being such an ass. 

He was _pissed_. He was! 

He was so upset that Tendo had disappeared for days. 

He just missed Tendo so much that it pretty much physically hurt. But it was better for Tendo if he stayed gone, now that the break had been made. It was. 

Newt was shaking, almost, from the effort of holding himself to a walk. He hoped his voice wasn’t betraying him. Tendo was an ass. Tendo needed to stay _gone_. He was so _mad_. 

“Why are you even here, asshole?” Did his voice break and wobble at the end? Newt was pretty sure it had. 

Tendo heaved out a breath like he was relieved. That was... not what Newt had expected--hoped for, maybe. His voice was too soft and gentle for Newt’s peace of mind. “You’re not getting rid of me, my man. I’m staying with you until you’re out of this quarantine.” 

Was it his imagination or were Tendo’s mouth and nose kind of scabby and swollen? Newt reminded himself again that he didn’t care because he was pissed off. “ _What_ , in a body bag? You should have stayed gone--” 

Shit. Definite hitch. 

“No. I should have come back sooner. I’m sorry, man. I had to get my head together and-- But that’s not an excuse. I need to apologize--” 

No. If Tendo apologized, Newt didn’t think he could take it. Tendo had to stay away for his own good. Newt would suck the fucking life and joy out of him if he stayed. Quick, he needed to stop it--

“For what? Fucking Karla? Counting down the days until I get what’s coming and you don’t have to hide it anymore? Won’t matter if she isn’t poly if I’m not here, will it? You can pull a Jacob Geiszler and pretend, even if it makes you a miserable fuck.” 

What was he even saying? Newt choked, wanting to take it all back. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t think of Tendo like that! 

Tendo took a step back, looking-- Looking confused and hell if Newt even knew. He found his voice in fits and starts, finally getting out something that made a sentence. “What. You-- Newt, you know that I wouldn’t, not without--” 

Newt finally felt anger hissing up, and almost relished the vicious way it made him feel. “Don’t think I didn’t notice! She got all informal and friendly real quick--” 

“Newt, listen to yourself. You’re not making sense.” 

“What, because I’m an idiot who needs you to tell me how people work? Screw you. Go back to Karla; I’m sure she isn’t bad for your stress level.” He... 

He could do this. Walk away and not break down into sloppy crying and beg Tendo to forgive him, please; he didn’t know what he was saying. He did, this time. He wasn’t stupid just because his brain to mouth filter sucked ass. He wouldn’t be able to take things back and apologize ever if he didn’t know what he’d said that needed apologizing _for_. 

Tendo closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. “Newt, calm down, please. I-- I need to say--” 

“No.” No. No. No. No. “No! You don’t. You know what? _You’re_ not good for _my_ stress levels. Get the hell out of my face.” 

Shit. Shitshitshitshit _shit_. He couldn’t do this. He wanted his friend back. He--

He couldn’t let Tendo see. Newt managed to turn on his heel, and clenched his fists. He really wanted to hug himself, but Tendo would know what that meant. 

There was silence. Had he--? 

Tendo was gone. Good. No, no it wasn’t good at all. Good. 

Newt wrapped his arms tight around himself, feeling like he was shaking apart. Hermann was at the front of the tank, head stretched forward. God, Hermann. With the _mess_ Newt had made of his leg, he would probably never be able to return to the wild, so why hold back? 

Nevermind that Karla had told him that the damage probably couldn’t have been adequately repaired without dozens of surgeries and plates and pins and that the real problem had been how _abused_ the bones had been. He didn’t want to think about Karla right now. 

Newt climbed up to the tank and wrapped his hands around Hermann’s shoulders, not caring that it got his shirt soaked. Hermann cooed and crooned and awkwardly returned the gesture, but mostly just rubbed his cheek along Newt over and over. Over Newt’s cheek, his chin, his back...

It felt really good. At least he still had Hermann, even if Hermann didn’t understand him and so wasn’t--

Not thinking about it. 

He had Hermann, and Hermann was great. Hermann didn’t judge. Hermann--

Had gone very, very still. What? 

Newt lifted his head a little from Hermann’s shoulder to look and Hermann had the meanest, nastiest snarl on display, pointed at the... door?

The empty doorway. 

Huh. Had Hermann connected Tendo’s visit with his upset? Or connected the doorway, he guessed. 

Hermann was so smart; Newt hugged him tighter and a moment later Hermann was cooing away at him again. 

It didn’t fill the aching gap that was screaming for Tendo, but it filled up another place in him that Newt was pretty sure had always been Hermann’s. He just hadn’t known it. It was enough. 

It had to be. 

**Day 24, ???**

His gills hurt. He’d been able to ignore the burn before but now it was bad enough that he stayed at the surface for longer and longer stretches of times, using his lungs instead. His monster had noticed and was cleaning the shell twice now every day, once right when she awoke and again when before she retired to her nest to sleep. He was glad for it now, because he could scent-taste the poison that escaped his gills with each draw of water. 

And blood. He didn’t have long, in spite of everything his monster was doing. And it looked like she didn’t either. She was in a flurry of activity when she was awake, pushing through the listlessness to do whatever it was, but he saw her having to stop and rest more and more often. And there was a faint, but tell-tale, scent of sickness clinging to her skin now, along with the unpleasantness of the poison. 

Her fool mate had not returned after the last time, and he thanked Moon-mother for that. It had taken her a long time to calm after he’d threatened the fool into leaving instead of watching half-hidden by the entrance of the cave. 

But the other female also was wearing more and more false-skins and not staying in the cave as long as before. His monster was less animated around her now, keeping more distance, and not looking her in the face. Maybe it was because so much more of her being covered bothered his monster. 

But what it told him was that even the other female was ready to give up and starting to be afraid of the poison. Sensible, for a mother, but it worried him still that they had shown not even one sign of giving either of them mercy. Would they really be left all alone to rot away? 

He comforted himself with measures, and his monster had started to watch more often. He made sure to go over the simplest ones for her sake, because surely she would be lost with the rest, given her difficulties. Also, the shells were a poor substitute for a good set of measures, and sometimes _he_ lost track of all he now had to keep in his head instead of being able to lay out to look at with his measure set. But he made due, and he was glad for her gifts and her company. It was all they had now. 

And he was glad for the little...platform she had somehow found or made from not-stone and other things. She took the lattice off when she awoke now, and the last two times she had put the platform just a little way into the water instead. It was cramped, but he could climb onto it without jarring his leg, and if he rested on one side it was just deep enough that his gill inlets were still in the water. It was much easier to rest with the platform, as much as it was hard to admit that his strength was failing. 

He was resting on it even now, and watching her while she looked intently at different impressions and contraptions. She’d been at it for a while, ignoring the food that had been slipped into the cave. He hoped she would eat eventually. 

Suddenly, she made a sound that was mostly happy, he thought, and babbled something over and over. Curious, he lifted his head and called out. 

“What has made you so happy, my monster?”

She just scrambled up to the edge of the shell and rubbed her jaw against his, cooing the sounds she used whenever she sang to him. He had no idea what that little pattern meant, and she did something strange with her mouth to make the sound in the middle, but she repeated it a lot around him. Maybe... Large groups needed more complicated call-sounds for each other to avoid confusion, but he didn’t know enough about monsters to be sure. 

She launched into song, and seemed both happy and sad at the same time. But there was nothing he could do to figure it out, so instead he pulled out the clam shells. This was something that they could share in and understand. 

He started with the simple counting exercises for children after moving so he had room on the platform. It made him much more cramped, but she couldn’t very well reach the bottom of the shell, could she? She happily played along, and she was so clever, remembering the patterns after only one or two tries. Maybe she wasn’t bad at measures so much as never having been taught properly. 

So this time, he decided to go further, into numbers for measuring the cycles of moon and sun and season. 

He didn’t expect her to get all of it right away, even though she was proving so clever, so when she moved the shells into the pattern for the next number higher without being shown first he had to trill in a pleased shock. She had her mouth turned up so much in return that her teeth showed, but he was pretty sure they didn’t really bare their teeth in threat. The teeth they had... well, they weren’t very threatening at all. 

So amazing! He _had_ to test it, so he formed a pattern for three more instead of just one. It took her longer to figure it out, but she laid out the next one more in the sequence that would come after what he’d laid down. Oh Moon-mother and the currents, she was truly brilliant. 

He sang that praise, long and sweet, and she laughed, that joyful sound that could be nothing else. He lost himself in the feel of her neck rubbing against his and the sounds she made. So clever, so brilliant.

And when she ended up again with her head against his shoulder and clinging with her forelimbs across his back like a child seeking comfort he was careful not to move. 

Moon-mother, Moon-mother, why did they both have to die? 

**Day 26, Newt**

He’d done it. He’d solved the puzzle, mostly, of the replicating toxings. Enzymes. Honest to god Kaiju enzymes. They were basically zombi-fying dead and dying cells to churn out toxins from the decaying molecules. It was only dead or dying cells too, because otherwise healthy cells were left alone. At least until something happened to them, like the toxins weakening cell membranes, disturbing the ion pathways and basically setting of the chain reaction that kept the Blue going and going like some homicidal Energizer Bunny.

He had control samples of more cells, perfectly healthy, and more or less playing nicely with the carbon-ized Kaiju enzymes that he’d filtered out of the Blue. All but one of the samples was still going, and the one that had failed had a cell going through natural apoptosis. The enzymes had mobbed the cell, basically took over, and started using it as both fuel and a factory for production of the toxins. Boom, instant Blue infection, and once the toxins appeared and started screwing with the cells, the whole sample went. 

Newt still wasn’t sure if there was something in the process of cell death that triggered the enzymes or if they couldn’t just get in and do their stuff unless the cells were weakened and dying. More things to research if he ever had time, but it was enough to know how the toxins were being produced. Now only one thing left to put the whole picture together. Well, a lot more than one, but one super important thing. 

Because the enzymes--holy hell, what a beautiful structure--worked just the same on the Kaiju cells he’d managed to culture from his super precious live sample. Like human cells, the healthy Kaiju cells were ignored, and dying cells were basically being recycled. It worked _way_ better on the Kaiju cells, and the health of the entire sample improved in the presence of the toxins and with the dead cells removed. What exactly the toxins did to benefit Kaiju cells, Newt still didn’t know and would also have to look into later--but there wouldn’t be a later, now would there?--but he did know now that oxygen was triggering the cell death in the Kaiju cells a lot like the toxins triggered death in human cells, which then triggered the enzymes. 

That had been a complete accident on his part, actually, when he’d started shivering uncontrollably for no reason--no reason that he wanted to think about--and broken the container. Newt had known from pretty much the beginning that Earth’s atmosphere wasn’t great for Kaiju. Definitely so not ideal, and he had a theory that it was the pollutants in the air that attracted Kaiju invariably to cities, but no way to really _test_ it. But he hadn’t known oxygen was quite _that_ toxic to Kaiju cells. The enzymes that carried out the recycling were sturdier, and the carbon versions even more so, but there might be a way to take advantage of that oxygen-weakness somehow. If only he had more time to research all the little discoveries. 

But right now his task was to tag all these enzymes and figure out how _they_ were replicating. The last big missing chunk of the puzzle. Newt had some ideas already, actually, and all of them were pretty bad ne--

His phone and his laptop both chimed for his attention at once. New email, both to his official PPDC and personal accounts. Huh. Subject--

On _god_ damn Tendo. “XXX FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. Xeno slut love getting reamed by naughty kaiju tentacles”

Really. _Really_?

One. He didn’t even like porn like that, pretty much ninety percent of the time. It was way too easy to get caught up in critiquing the biological plausibility, or really, the complete _implausibility_ , to enjoy the porn. Not that critiquing biological plausibility in movies wasn’t its own kind of fun, but, porn usually didn’t even try to put any thought into it at _all_. It was like dynamite-ing fish in a barrel. 

Two. He had custom filters set up to kick that shit straight to spam, which Tendo knew because Tendo had helped him program the suckers. Which was the reason Tendo could get past them so easy, but that was beside the point.

Three. Tendo had already emailed him several times since their last talk, and using more and more cheap tricks in the subjects to try to get him to read the emails. The first email had been a simple “Newt, we need to talk” but it had escalated really, really quickly to things like “I’m begging you, please just read this” and then “I know you even read your spam man come on PLEASE.” 

So, okay, it had just been the three emails before this one, but it felt like so many when Newt wanted to read them so _bad_. He’d had to pull his hands away from the track pad and sit on them for a minute with the last one. He knew that Tendo would have an explanation for everything, a _good_ one, and an apology that Newt wouldn’t be able to _not_ lap up like sweetest honey. He knew that even if it wasn’t actually true, he’d still fire off a response too fast for his common sense to catch up and do something really stupid like beg forgiveness or ask Tendo to come over so they could kiss and make up. Or, well, a hundred different completely selfish things. 

So he’d been trying to work on his will instead, whenever he got the urge to read the emails. He’d have to get a lawyer involved eventually, but for now, he was just laying things out. His own apology and explanation, so that Tendo could understand once he was...gone, and a few other things, like who got his collections and other stuff. Most of it was going to Tendo, and a few things to his parents, and he’d made sure to clearly specify that anything he got posthumously for this latest research--awards or whatever--would go right to Tendo. He didn’t know if that could even legally be a thing, but if it wasn’t, hopefully it was the thought that counted? 

The problem now was that he’d already banged out everything he could without said lawyer and even edited it twice over. And, the stupid porn title reminded him of the good times. Especially that time when they’d sent each other a bunch of official class emails back and forth with increasingly ridiculous spam-style subject lines. It had been for one of the mandatory engineering classes for techs and science division and they’d both been so _bored_ out of their minds. They’d either already known it, or the professor had been going so very slow, that it was like a class in fighting against sleep instead of learning about the mechanical ins and outs of the Jaeger program.

The emails had been a blast, but unfortunately, hadn’t stayed just between them. Once the other students started slinging the joke subjects around, word had gotten up to the head of the Academy, and oh _hell_ had he been pissed. They’d all gotten a reprimand with threats of worse and new filters had been installed into the email system to catch future bad behavior. 

He and Tendo had continued, and made sure to really keep it _just_ between them this time, under Tendo’s own encryption and filter-counter program for another week or so out of spite. 

It had been so completely awesome. So rebellious and rock-star. Newt knew that Tendo was trying to remind him of all the good times, and it felt manipulative as hell. Tendo knew him, so Tendo _had_ to know how hard it would be to not come crawling back even if Newt had been _really_ as pissed as he was trying to pretend he was. 

His laptop chimed out another email alert. 

“I know you’re pissed and you have a right to be but please”

Shit. Newt hugged himself, wishing he could just turn off his alerts and not even know Tendo was trying so hard to talk to him.

Another chime. “I really need to tell you some things, before its too late. Newt please” 

Newt had to bite down on the fleshy part of his thumb to keep from making a noise at that. 

But then came another. “I’m sorry for playing dirty but I just want to talk to you at least one last time”

Nope. No. Tendo was being so _selfish_ \--or was it Newt being the selfish one--so fuck this. Another chime, but Newt didn’t see because he’d already pulled up a new email window. He set it to go straight to the Marshall, and CC’d it to Karla, and explained as fast as he could that he was going to be unreachable by email and phone (and vid-chat and everything else) permanently. He tried not to implicate Tendo too much, and hopefully they got it without feeling the need to go looking for trouble. 

And hopefully Tendo wouldn’t think to hack into his lab computers to circumvent this. 

Email sent, and notifs turned the hell off, Newt sat back and pulled in a few shaky breaths, before signing out and turning off his phone and laptop. Probably for good. 

It was impossible not to catch part of one last subject line. “I’ve been a hypocritical asshole--” 

It felt like something was breaking inside. Tendo had his asshole moments, everybody did, but he wasn’t-- Shit. Newt wanted to tell him that. _Shit._

But he couldn’t. Clean break; it would hurt less. That was the plan and he wasn’t going to break it. He wasn’t. 

Newt clenched his fists and got up to look at his current enzyme samples for _anything_ else to occupy his mind. His palms stung the whole way.

**Day 29, ???**

His monster had been working all day on making something out of large pieces of not-stone from platforms she’d taken apart. He didn’t know what she was doing, but it was different from what she usually scrambled around to do. It was interesting, but he was having trouble focusing lately. He felt like it was hard to get enough air sometimes, even though it was only his gills that were hurting and bleeding. He’d even been careful to avoid using his gills as much as possible or even sleep too deeply, because drawing water through his gills hurt worse and worse and there was more blood every time. 

His monster wasn’t doing well either. Sometimes she shivered, and sometimes, like now, her skin looked red and damp. He knew from the last time that he’d seen her like this that if he touched her now, her skin would feel hot. 

They were both getting sicker and sicker as time passed, but the other female was becoming more and more excited with each visit and each time she looked at the new work and impressions. It was just harder to tell from the way she hid herself in the false-skins. 

His monster was happy too, but it was a happiness tinged liberally with sadness. When she turned her mouth up around the other female now, it was thin and looked painful, unlike how she had turned her mouth up so often at first. The other female seemed to notice, and was leaving quickly now after looking at the new work, or helping with whatever his monster needed, instead of lingering and trying to get her to eat or other such things. It was even more pronounced with every day. 

But even though his monster was turning her mouth up less, she still turned it up for him, bright and not pained, when they sang or did measures together. It was more of the latter now, because measures didn’t make either of them as tired as singing did. 

And he was sure now, that she was brilliant at measures, and it must have just been poor monster teaching to make her so poor at them at first. No matter which counting measure he put out for her, high or low, she could always lay out the next one higher, even if she hadn’t seen it before. Even the theoretical measures far greater than the seasons in an elder’s life, or the largest school of fish, she could manage, at least until they ran out of shells to represent them completely. 

Most of the people wouldn’t even know those measures. Only those like him, who made a life of measuring the long patterns of tide and ocean, moon and sun and stars, and the weather that drove the world, all of which could span many lifetimes even needed to know them. But she did. Or she learned just that fast. He couldn’t be sure which. 

Regardless, it was a joy that kept them both going and gave him something to look forward to before he slept. He loved that time spent, and so did she, even if the last time she had gasped and swayed and nearly fell to the cave floor. It wasn’t a long drop from the edge of the shell, but event that short distance could cause pain. The monsters were very good climbers, but the rot was making her, and him too, weak, so he worried that soon she might not be able to climb up to the edge of the shell at all. 

The thought made him shudder, and below him she was still putting the pieces of not-stone together. Watching, even with half his attention, helped reassure him that that bad thought wouldn’t happen for a while, at least. 

He couldn’t gather up the energy to be truly curious, though. Time would probably reveal the purpose, like the with object that produced the impressions of their bodies. 

And he was proven correct not long later, when she started putting the not-stone near the edge of the shell. Looking at it all together made so much more sense. It was something to help her climb up without falling. 

The pieces slotted together to make slopes, and once she was done she could just walk up and down with no--well, a little, it seemed--trouble. 

Looking at them, he realized that if she left the shell uncovered and the platform he now spent almost all his time reclining on in place, so could he. She had to know, and though it was only a small gesture and mostly useless, he found himself full of fondness and gratitude at her trust. 

She had her mouth turned up when she flopped onto her side at the horizontal platform she’d set on top of everything. It was large enough for her to lie on, if she tucked her long hind legs closer to her body, and almost level with the edge of the shell. It would be simple to step from his platform onto it, and just enough space, barely, for him to settle all his legs before going down. He could leave the shell freely. 

Then she settled onto the flesh cushions and there was more than enough room to lay out measures without him having to contort himself. He was eager to try it out, so he pulled out the clam shells and for a while there was nothing but measures and the occasional touch against jaw or neck. He was content.

Abruptly, she pulled all the shells to her and set out one measure, then another next to it, but with enough space between that it was easy to see that they were meant to be separate. They were both correct, of course, so he crooned approval, but it seemed that she wasn’t done. 

Next she pushed the shells all together and started taking shells from the resulting, meaningless pile, and made them into a third measure. 

He looked at her, then the measure, then at her again. Was she...?

That was the right measure for a combining of the first two, but was it intentional? She hadn’t laid the shells out to indicate a combining. But, would she know it? Monsters would probably use different patterns for measures and combining, if they combined at all, and he hadn’t shown her. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that she had done it intentionally. 

He had to test it. So he set out one measure, then the pattern for combining--one of several, actually, but for this kind of measure set--then another measure. He let her look for a moment, then carefully set out the answer for combining the two measures he’d laid. There weren’t enough shells to leave both of the original measures intact with the new one, so he had to take from them, but as she watched, her face lit up with joy. 

She took the shells from him then, and set out more measures. He had to correct the combining pattern a little, or it would have been too easily confused for a removing pattern, but the measures themselves were right. 

He took a turn when she finished, and even with the large measures combining had long been so simple that it hardly could hold his interest for long. But this time, practicing it with her, it was fun. 

Back and forth they went with the measures, but he noticed her curling on herself more and more, then finally she put her paw to her belly. Low, and on the right side. Was the rot paining her?

He put his paw over hers, but she only gave him the small, thin upturn that she was so often giving the other female and sang something quickly before going back to the measures. 

They tired eventually; there was no other way around it. She didn’t pull her slopes away or shoo him off the resting platform in the shell to take it out when she finally walked oh so slowly down. Yes, she _was_ letting him out of the shell and into the rest of the cave. 

So he followed. It was very slow and tiring to climb down the slopes, and maybe he should have tried it for the first time when he wasn’t already feeling so tired. But just as he’d thought, it was definitely possible and the slopes held under his weight where the other object she’d used to climb would creak and sway if he put more than a little of his weight on it. 

She jumped when he came up behind her, and he saw that she had the medicine-shell in her paws. So she was indeed pained, and trying to relieve it. Perhaps he hadn’t really noticed the rot starting to hurt in more than the obvious areas because of how often he swallowed the medicine for his leg. 

But after her moment of surprise, she just rubbed her jaw against him and went to curl on her nest with a clear shell full of water. So strange, how often they drank. He was tempted to go over to her, but she was trusting him with the run of the cave and he wanted to explore while he was still well enough to try. 

He hobbled around, slowly getting into a kind of rhythm to compensate for his leg. He would never be able to move on land now with any kind of speed or grace, but at least he could still move. And there were so many very interesting things in the cave. He gawked at clear shells of all sizes, not-stone rods along the walls, the various platforms with curious object on them, and even things he couldn’t begin to describe. He even stretched his neck up to peer more closely at some things, including a contraption that she bent down to look through so many times. He got a glimpse of something through it but he had no idea what and he didn’t want to fall and knock something over. 

She was watching him while he explored, but didn’t interrupt, except when he _did_ almost fall into some of the objects. Even then, he was pretty sure it was more worry over him falling than the objects. But he was mindful of them all the same, and careful not to touch, even though in some cases he really wanted to. 

That meant he ran out of things to look at quickly, and he realized a little ruefully that he’d left a trail of drips and damp behind him on the floor. She didn’t seem upset about the floor getting wet, so he wasn’t too worried. 

Without much else to look at, he limped over to the entrance to the cave, ignoring his monster as she called out again. By the time he got to the clear, flexible shell, she was right behind him, singing in high pitched, short bursts and the occasional croon.

She probably thought he was trying to get out. He wasn’t that foolish! Who knew how many monsters were out there and even what direction the sea was in? And what point was there when he was to die so soon, anyway? Better to stay and not spread the poison to any other people. He huffed at her for her assumptions, and then turned his attention to looking. 

Her cave opened to a long thin cave--or tunnel, that might be better--that other monsters were walking through. Truly, how large _were_ their caves? He couldn’t even see the ends of the tunnel, but every once in a while he saw a monster come into or go out of openings on the side of the tunnel. Probably other caves like his monster’s. The part of him that had always enjoyed new places did want to go and explore, but he kept himself still. She was trusting him to remain here with her. 

The monsters had made an attempt to seal them both inside, even if it was easy to get by, as the other female so often showed. There were bright yellow cords stretched on short rods around the cave entrance, and as he watched, most of the other monsters went well out of their way to stay as far away as possible. Those were most likely some sign that there was rot and poison within; maybe a warning to keep them from blundering in unaware. He also saw that almost all of them were wearing very similar false-skins to what he’d seen on the large male and his monster’s fool, former mate. There were little shells on them that were different, and those must be some sign too, but he couldn’t guess the meaning.

He wondered what the false-skins meant, and why his monster wore something different, and why her fool mate had worn them sometimes and not others. No answers came, and in spite of the false-skins, they were so different. So many colors of skin, of fur, and so much difference in size. It was fascinating to watch, and more than that, he found that many of them were difficult to place as male or female. The nursing mothers were easy to spot, with their swollen teats, and so very numerous! Was this a breeding colony to provide a safe place for mothers and children? That would explain the child that had come to visit. He even spotted a few that might be close to birthing children, with thick, heavy looking bellies jutting out in front of them. That didn’t look very comfortable, like a pouch stretched out too tight by a child big enough to leave, but too scared to take that final flick out into the open sea for good. 

But all of them, to the very last one, male or female or he couldn’t begin to guess, were moving, making the tunnel a busy, buzzing place.

He was content to settle himself in front of the shell to watch and once his monster was assured that he wasn’t going to leave, she was content to leave him there while she curled in her nest. 

It was pleasant to watch the monsters scurry around and try to figure out what they were and what they were doing. Or what the objects that they were carrying were. He was starting to feel drowsy, and wondering if he could trust himself only to doze and not switch to gills, when he saw a familiar face. His monster's fool, former mate.

The fool had a carry pouch on a cord hanging off his shoulder that was made of false-skins. It looked much sturdier than the ones the people wove out of strands of seaweeds. It was also bulging full, and the fool almost dropped it as he tried to get himself under the yellow cord. 

Why wouldn’t the fool give up? He risked a glance back and, good. His monster wasn’t looking, for now. He had to get rid of the fool before he upset her again. 

The fool saw him once he was through the cords and stopped, eyes wide and mouth falling open. He had mostly healed from whatever had bloodied his face, but there was a pale line on his mouth now. 

He bared his teeth again at the fool, but was careful not to lash his tail or move enough to attract his monster’s attention. The fool put his paws out in response--there was something white and flexible clutched in the one--and sang some low, soft words that were obviously meant to be soothing. 

Well, _he_ wasn’t a fool to fall for something like that! He snapped his teeth together and refused to move. For a long moment the fool was still, but then he bent himself and reached for the flexible shell. 

How stupid! All he had to do was put his paw on it to stop that from happening. What was the fool up to? What was that white thing that he was trying to slide under the shell? 

It didn’t matter; he could get rid of it. To prove his intent, he made sure to get as close to the fool’s face as he could before snapping his teeth again. And to his relief, the fool left after that, and getting the white thing half-under the flexible shell, but not before giving him a look so sad and hurt that he felt almost guilty enough to call the fool back. Instead he pulled the white thing the rest of the way through and saw the little black impressions made of straight and curved lines. 

It was bent closed on itself and there were more inside, in a short, single line. They meant nothing to him, but he pushed the white thing to the side, so that it was very hard to see behind some object. He knew that the fool was a good monster, and he had no reason to harm the monster. He was even sure that given time, and health, that whatever had split them could be resolved, but not a one of them had time, and his monster no longer had health. If they couldn’t get a merciful rest, the least he could do would be to ensure that his monster was as happy as possible, and the fool was not making her happy at all with his visits. He was sure the white thing was more of the same. 

He did feel guilt, but the fool would mourn, and someday he would be able to find another mate and have a family. The temporary pain was less important. The fool would live long enough to find happiness again and they would not. 

But his enjoyment of watching the monsters had turned dull now, so he went back to his monster instead. She had the little shells in her ears again, and was swaying just a little, but it looked like with happiness instead of pain. She had an impression in her lap, but it looked like she wasn’t paying attention to it at all. He huffed.

She looked up and saw him, singing out something quiet as she put the impression aside. He wanted to give her a jaw rub, but there were cords attached to the little shells and he wasn’t sure if it would be all right to disturb them. 

First, she blinked at him with a slightly downturned mouth, but then she laughed and pulled the shells away. Much better. 

..But what was that sound? It was quiet, but clear, and even pleasant. It reminded him of the long songs, where the tones carried the message and not the greater variety of different sounds that didn’t carry so far or so clearly. Where was it--?

As he searched, moving his head back and forth and tipping it side to side, she held up the little shells. One mystery was suddenly replaced by another. How did those little shells make such noises? 

The noises changed as he dipped his head down to listen, and he heard the monsters’ singing, but with the usual sounds also following a pattern of tones. This seemed like it _was_ the long songs of the monsters, and they used their cleverness to add in all kinds of sounds that they obviously couldn’t make with their own bodies. 

He was halfway to deciding he liked it when the song changed again, and there was sudden screeching and crashing that was so unpleasant that he had to jerk back. Who would subject themselves to sounds like that? Monsters had such strange tastes. He huffed his displeasure at her, which she seemed to have caught onto. 

She laughed in response and poked at the little object on the other end of the cords until the noise changed into something like the first long song that he’d heard. So much better. He crooned along with it, and rested his head on her nest, enjoying the sounds and her presence. 

As her paw started stroking through his fur, he decided that he could definitely risk falling asleep too deeply for this. The songs would probably keep him to a gentle doze anyway. 

This was too pleasant to give up, even if it felt like a calm in the center of a horrendous storm. 

**Day 32, Newt**

The tests were almost done, and he was worried his theory was right. If there was something in the Blue that was rewriting and messing with DNA to make those enzymes, they were in trouble. Like with a retrovirus, it was tricky to fight something that turned your own cells against you. 

Newt was almost positive his theory was right. Kaiju DNA--and that technically wasn’t even the right word, even if the molecules were analogous--was one of the things he really wanted to crack, and it made sense. Why, he had no fucking clue. It felt more like something out of some cheesy sci-fi flick, where the aliens were ready-made to be the perfect destroyers, right down to the DNA, than real life. Generally invasive DNA or RNA didn’t belong to anything bigger than bacteria or the different kind of viruses. How a higher order organism had developed DNA that acted like that, he really wanted to figure out, because yeah, almost one hundred percent positive. 

Which brought him back to them being in real hot water, if he _wasn’t_ miraculously wrong. The enzyme functions could be slowed down, but as long as they couldn’t completely stop reproduction, there wasn’t a cure. His enzyme inhibitors, which had passed the first tests, worked pretty well with small amounts, but really probably weren’t good on the long term. He hadn’t gotten a chance to test them fully--or at all, really--with human enzymes. For him and Hermann, the side-effects really weren’t any worse than the disease, though Hermann seemed to be handling them better. 

He hadn’t developed a tremor, at any rate, though who knew if that was a side effect of the drug cocktail or the Blue itself. Newt couldn’t ask him if he was feeling dizzy or fatigued or, or nauseous, or other things. Ugh, it was a mess, and he wished he could understand Hermann’s vocalizations, if they were even language. 

Thinking of Hermann and the drug cocktails, it was time for another dose soon. It was really bad to test everything on himself, he knew, but it wasn’t like he had time to wait for clinical trials. And while the jury was still out--with less than a day and a half of doses under their belts--on the enzyme inhibitors, the improved anti-toxin meds were definitely helping. Blood levels were reduced by half, which was amazing. But not enough, because at this point they both had so many lesions producing more and more of the toxins that the meds weren’t keeping up. Inhibiting the enzyme reactions would be a solid next step, but they really needed to stop enzyme, and therefor toxin, production completely. 

Still, progress. That counted for something, right? Everyone else who would get Blue in the future had a much greater life expectency, at least if the anti-toxin meds were approved. Newt had passed on the formulas for pharmaceutical testing, and to his surprise, actually had his choice of labs to do it through. Maybe Karla’s idea to start promoting their efforts like the Jaeger program was promoted was a good idea. The “official” email she’d had set up--a while back, from the looks of things-- and gave him access to at curetheblue@ppdc.gov was swamped with all kinds of informational notices and offers of help, and wow. 

And Newt was pretty sure Tendo didn’t know about it, or if he did, hadn’t tried to contact Newt through it. But that was probably because Karla and some of their new assistants had access too. 

It was amazing to be connected even a little bit to the world, and donations and equipment offers, and everything else were _pouring_ in now. Newt had a sneaking--well, way more than sneaking--suspicion that Karla had started all this way before they’d officially launched the campaign. Because, apparently, the imaging equipment now in the lab wasn’t actually on loan from medical like he’d thought.

On one hand, all of this was awesome, and gave him hope that the world would have a cure before another year had passed. There were accelerated clinical trials for the anti-toxin formulas going at blazing speed, and the second rounds of testing he was conducting now in conjunction with three other labs around the world for the inhibitors and for the source of the enzymes were going really well. He hadn’t told anybody yet that he’d started testing the inhibitors on himself, because he wasn’t stupid, and really, now he was working more on the latter, because if there was any hope--and why couldn’t he accept sometimes that there wasn’t--they had to find the source. 

They’d had an intense brainstorming session two days ago over vid-chat with literally a dozen scientists about it. It felt good, and Newt was glad he’d gotten to feel that rush one more time before the end. 

Because it was coming on like a train. He hadn’t told Karla about the abdominal pain and tenderness. Or the fever that was getting more intense and more frequent. The Blue lesion on his colon was giving him appendicitis. Or, what it probably was, he’d had some very early appendicitis brewing and the lesion had found a vector and was speeding things up. Whichever. What mattered was that either they operated, with all the additional risks _that_ entailed, or they did nothing and hoped the Blue killed him before his appendix burst and he died of systemic infection instead. Not much of a choice, and even the short, relatively, recovery time from that surgery would take him away from his work for more time than they could afford. 

Maybe if the CT-scan today came out with almost no change, he’d elect to take care of it. Otherwise, it wasn’t exactly _shortening_ his life expectancy. 

Newt shook his head and popped another aspirin. Go, go fever reducing properties. Hopefully. He was wasting time thinking about this when he had work. And Hermann. 

Hermann had been so much better since he’d gotten the run of the lab. More lively, anyway. Or maybe it was just hard to accurately judge liveliness in a too small tank. Whatever. Newt was glad Hermann had more room to move now, even if it wasn’t in water. And with Hermann’s gills going like they were, maybe spending all his time in air was better for Hermann anyway. 

Hermann was napping now, and it broke Newt’s heart. Newt could tell when he started to go into a deep sleep, because his gills would open and Blue would puff out in little clouds around the slits. Then Hermann would moan in pain and come awake enough to start breathing air again. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

It was awful to watch, especially with how much he was learning lately. Hermann could _count_ and _add_. Even large numbers, approaching the thousands, and Newt had no idea even how. Well, maybe he did, but he didn’t think he’d be able to believe _himself_ if he admitted it. What were the chances of a second fully sentient species on one planet? Maybe Hermann could calculate it, because Newt sure was boggling. 

Hermann liked to people-watch too, and seemed very aware that he made Karla nervous outside the tank--Newt didn’t know _why_ but he hadn’t asked--so he stayed his distance from her except when necessary. And Hermann loved music. Some music. 

Newt couldn’t expect him to have perfect taste, and metal of any kind was very much _not_ to Hermann’s. He got all huffy at a few other genre too, but Newt was pretty sure what all of them had in common was really noises and frequencies that hurt Hermann’s ears. Newt couldn’t blame him for that. But Hermann actually crooned along to other styles, though. Blues, jazz, soft rock, classical... And his bio-mother’s singing was a _huge_ otter-dragon hit, and Newt was finally glad he’d kept the giant collection of her best performances that she’d sent him. He only listened to those when he was in a _mood_ , which was, of course, very rarely. Er, well, more often than he’d admit, according to his I-Pod’s ‘times listened to’ stats.

But the point was, he had a fine gentleman in the making on his hands. One that sometimes tried to groom him like a pup, but, well, species differences. It was probably a perfectly polite thing to do among otter-dragons. Clothes certainly weren’t a thing! Which made Hermann mastering buttons all the more amazing, now that Newt wasn’t freaking out over it. And that time, Hermann had sensed his distress and was smart enough to figure out and stop doing what was causing it. 

He had a really, really _smart_ budding gentleman on his hands, and the world would probably never know. On the other hand, it might be better. Newt didn’t have time to write down all his observations and voice recorded thoughts and scribbles, so that definitely wasn’t getting published ever, unlike his more important work with Karla on the Kaiju Blue. 

And wow, he was so scattered today. Just staring off into space. He didn’t even have the energy to feel startled when Karla was suddenly behind him and clearing her throat. Things were way more awkward between them now, and Newt regretted it, but hell if he knew how to fix it. 

Without making things infinitely worse. 

She was wearing a full mask now, because with his skin lesions oozing Blue, and nobody quite sure how long it stayed potentially infectious, no one wanted to take any chances. At least she’d elected for a suit that was all clear up top. It was easier to deal with when he could see all of her face, even if it was behind a plastic barrier. And now he could see it fall. 

“You don’t look well today. Have you checked your vitals?” 

Shit. “Yeah, sure! All’s well as it can be with this much Blue in me!” 

“You are an awful liar, Newt.” But she only shook her head and crossed to the scanner. “Let’s get your scan done.” 

“Let’s not and say we did.” He so didn’t want to face the scan now. 

“Newt.”

“Just, you know Hermann likes to watch. He’s napping now; let him sleep a little longer.” Perfect excuse! He was a genius. 

Karla crossed her arms, making the suit pull and looking uncomfortable. “Are you sure it’s wise to let him free like this? It wouldn’t be hard for him to escape into the rest of the Shatterdome.” 

This again. Newt shrugged, trying--and probably failing--to look unconcerned. “He’s shown no inclination to even want to leave, and no aggression since the first few days. Also, he moves with all the grace and speed of an elderly old guy with a walker. I think it’ll be okay.” 

“But Newt, he--” 

“He, what?” Karla definitely wanted to say _something_ and Newt felt a cold stab in his gut that had nothing to do with the Blue. 

“He’s just so protective of you. I’m worried that if he thinks someone has upset or hurt you, he’ll get violent.” 

Okay, yeah. He could see that. Newt ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’ll make sure to block the ramps when we have visitors. I can’t close up the tank anymore without removing his little sleeping bench, because he can barely use his gills and he needs it now. Deal?” 

She bit her lip behind the mask and then sighed. “Good enough. But if we’re not going to do the scan, there’s something else I want you to see.” 

That something else was either something he’d think was awesome or it’d make him feel like complete shit. Newt wasn’t sure he could handle the latter, but could he get away with saying no? “Sure.” 

Karla gave him her dazzling smile that made everything light up for the first time...in a while, and gestured him over to the big screen. A couple minutes later she had the computer set to display on it and pulled up--

“We have a website?”

“We do, but you’re not supposed to know.” Karla was wearing a classic disappointed face, so there was something juicy going on. 

Newt had to find out the details! “Why not?” 

“Because you’re not supposed to see what I’m about to show you. I had to promise in front of the Marshall that I wouldn’t inform you of this.” 

Now that was an eyebrows to the hairline kind of statement. “You’re defying Marshall Pentecost? The Hero so tough he piloted solo for hours to stop Onibaba before it destroyed a whole prefecture?”

Karla gave him a tight grin. “I like to think that the Marshall would approve, privately. He wasn’t the one insisting on the secrecy.” 

Huh. Curious and curiouser. Newt turned his attention to the website. Nice design. Not flashy, but solidly coded and not the kind of coding that would crash slow or unstable internet either. Whoever did this knew their stuff, but the credit page only listed the PPDC. They had some amazing IT and programming guys--had to--for the Jaeger program, sure, but he wasn’t aware of any of them that more than dabbled in web...oh.

Oh, shit. Suddenly Newt knew.

“Tendo put this together.” Why didn’t Tendo want him to know? 

“He’s the brains behind all of Cure the Blue, start to finish.” Karla hesitated for a long moment. 

Newt had to break in. “There’s a but in there.”

Damn, he’d sounded really accusing, hadn’t he? 

“He didn’t have the plan of action and proposal finalized completely until after... your first falling out. And then there were, well, delays. We didn’t get everything fully rolled out and running smoothly until a little less than ten days ago.” 

Newt didn’t know what to think. Why was Tendo really doing this? If Karla wasn’t lying... She probably wasn’t. Even if she saw him as competition, she’d win as soon as the Blue got him. And Newt had to admit that the awkward between them was all him. He’d been way out of line with the stuff he’d said to Tendo about Karla. She had to be poly, if Tendo had gotten with her. So she _wouldn’t_ see him as competition and she wasn’t waiting for him to die, and neither was Tendo. The only one wanting him to die so this would finally be done and over with right now, so that everybody could move on, was... was him. 

And maybe he had a good idea about why Tendo was doing this, but... It hurt so much to think about. It wouldn’t hurt to ask to make sure, would it? Karla was in a sharing mood and maybe she’d prove him wrong. “So, why can’t I know?”

Karla gave him a long, steady look, then sighed. “This goes no further than us, understand?” 

He nodded but she didn’t show any sign of continuing. Fine. “Yeah. I understand. I promise.” 

“Good. He didn’t want you to know, because he didn’t want knowing to manipulate you, he said. He didn’t do all this to change your feelings or opinions of him, and after the email fiasco, he didn’t want to give you, or anyone else, a reason to think that.” Karla so wasn’t looking at him. 

Damn. He shouldn’t have asked. Newt bit back a noise and now Karla was giving him a _look_. Newt squirmed under it. “I didn’t need to. I already forgave him for everything. I just can’t tell him yet.” 

Wait. How did Karla know--? He had made sure not to let slip why he was withdrawing from contact, hadn’t he? Had he made a mistake somewhere and mentioned something damning to Tendo? “Wait. Email fiasco?”

Karla made like she was going to rub at her temples but dropped her hand. “You terrified us when you sent that email and went off the grid. It was deemed an emergency and I happened to be present at the time. In hindsight, I probably should have left when the Marshall began investigating, but...” 

She shrugged, again not making eye contact. “I saw the security footage of you receiving all those emails. Most people don’t know the reason, but Tendo got broken down to the most junior rank that wouldn’t get him sent back to Jaeger Academy or dismissed from the PPDC entirely. He was also given four weeks of unpaid leave, and is pending further disciplinary action on the harassment. And part of that I found out through working with him on Cure the Blue.” 

“Harassment, what?” Oh man, he’d gotten Tendo into serious trouble. He hadn’t wanted that! Just for Tendo to stop trying to contact him. Except, what he wanted most _was_ to talk to Tendo. Newt felt guilty and sick. 

Karla swore impressively in German, suddenly glaring at him. Better than not looking at him at all. Then she tried to rub her temples and was thwarted by the suit again. 

“You-- I can’t believe you two. Yes, it was harassment. He should be facing criminal charges, but something convinced the Marshall to be lenient.” 

Oh no. Oh _fuck_. Tendo should have known better. But how many times had Newt been told something like that after doing something and only thinking about the _now_ and not what came after? And how many times had Tendo told him that he’d learned the lesson about doing things without thinking the consequences through the hard way? Guess Tendo hadn’t actually learned that lesson either, huh? If only that thought made Newt feel better, and not worse. 

On the other hand, what could have convinced the Marshall to let Tendo off easy, especially with evidence that he’d messed with the email system a little to send that porn-subject line? And Newt would bet a lot further, even if Tendo swore he didn’t do that without good cause anymore. “Was it you?”

Karla had calmed down, but she still rolled her eyes at him. “While I made sure to give him my detailed opinion on your stupid, bloody useless martyr complex and the details I do know about your little lovers’ spat, I doubt it counted for much.” 

He didn’t have a martyr complex. He-- Wait, Karla was still talking. 

“And don’t try to deny it. You do have a complex where Tendo and your pet are concerned. Trying to sacrifice your happiness in some misguided attempt to make things better for them? It counts in my book. Well, sorry to tell you, but it’s not going to work. And I’m completely fed up with both of you. So if I have to play conniving bitch to end this, one way or another, that’s exactly what I’ll do.” 

Wow. She was really, really mad, but in that quiet, almost icy way. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize to me until you know what you need to be sorry for.” Karla was snapping like a wolf, but then she glanced at the screen and started clicking the mouse around hurriedly. “But the website isn’t what I really wanted to show you.” 

A couple more clicks and she had a buffering screen popping up from the video page. Something about an interview for a show. 

Newt didn’t even know why this was there. Blah blah this. Meh meh that. Nothing related to their Blue research. He was zoning out, only half listening, when they finally announced an interview.

With Tendo. Oh. Why hadn’t Karla just skipped to this part?

Newt bit his lip when Tendo came out, dressed in a dapper suit--and someday Newt would get him to admit he was totally a Doctor Who fan--and shook the interviewer’s hand.

He was amazing, smiling and confident and easy, as he did the usual “plugging the hell out of the organization I represent” routine. Tendo had studied up, and delivered it all in a way that made Newt ache to shower him in praise and kisses and-- And maybe that was just Tendo. Newt was _hungry_ for Tendo, and missing him more with each word.

Then the interviewer started asking personal questions. About Tendo’s work outside the Cure the Blue Foundation for the PPDC. A bit about his family history and future plans. Light, fluffy stuff. 

So the Trespasser question, after all of that, hit like a charging Kaiju hammering down on everybody. The interviewer had done some homework too.

Tendo had to pause and took a deep breath. Newt knew he didn’t like talking about it very much. His voice had a little shake when he started talking. 

“Yeah, I was there on K-Day. I used to work the ferries, and from the moment the bridge fell, we were getting people out. As many as the ferry could carry. We saw the buildings mowed down, the jets, the missiles, the explosions. And my god, the smells that carried on the wind. But we were pretty safe, out on the water, because no matter how unpredictable Trespasser’s movements were, one thing was for sure; it wasn’t going back into the water. The biggest threats to the ferry and us were panicked crowds, and dehydration.” 

Tendo stopped there and took a few long sips of water. Newt realized that Tendo was telling the clean--well, cleaner--version, and leaving out some of the really awful things, like the scream of the tearing Golden Gate, or the sight of the bridge’s bones, all crumbled and just visible under the water. Or knowing hundreds of people had died with the bridge, crushed, or trapped and drowned. Or worse, alive enough to be fished up by the brave boaters risking the water, only to die horribly from the Blue within days. A lot of the first responders who’d gotten people out of the water had died from Blue too. Tendo was leaving all of that out, along with everything he’d felt. 

And focusing on what everybody really wanted to hear. Personal loss. A million lost was a statistic or whatever. When Tendo continued he was steadier, but he kept his eyes closed. 

“I probably would have stayed with the ferry until the end, but the Kaiju swerved hard, heading right towards Chinatown. I didn’t need worry about my parents, you know? They were away on a trip, thank god. But my grandfather hardly ever strayed further than the block he lived on, and the phones had been down forever by then. They guys understood; I hadn’t been the first to take off for a little while to try to save family. But we were really close to running out of fuel by then, and there would be no more trips once it was gone. I tried to hurry, because of the warnings, but there was no hurrying in that kind of chaos.” 

The interviewer had mostly been keeping quiet, but once in a while he’d ask a question to get Tendo back on point with the story. His point, anyway. Now he interrupted to ask a stupid, in Newt’s opinion, question. 

Tendo barked out a laugh that sounded like dying. “What day? I have no idea. I can tell you where I was on K-Day, and on the day Trespasser finally fell, but in between all kind of melts together. Day two? Day three? I hadn’t slept at all, but I reached my grandfather’s building in time to watch a jet get swatted right out of the sky to crash down the street. There was so many people still. Stranded or confused, or maybe just hoping it wouldn’t walk through their neighborhoods. I found my grandfather, just in time, but had a hard time getting him to come out. We barely understood each other, because I’d grown up mostly speaking English and he’d never gotten the hang of it. But once we were down on the street again, and you could _feel_ the shaking like tiny earthquakes, I was focused on getting us out of there as fast as possible. The car wouldn’t start.” 

Tendo had hotwired it, Newt knew, and never knew who the owner had even been, or if they’d survived. But Tendo was smart and wasn’t going to mention _that_ on a news show. It would bring up uncomfortable questions about the less fluffy parts of his past. 

“I was lucky, already inside the car, but my grandfather hadn’t gotten in yet. He was watching his building get bulldozed. Trespasser was that close to us. Then _something_ got the Kaiju and the whole street got sprayed with gore. I remember him saying “it hurts” over and over in Cantonese and English as I finally got us out of there. Then we made it maybe six blocks before the streets were impassible by car. Figures, right?”

Tendo shook his head ruefully. “And then there was a detour to find water to drink and to wash off with. I thought that would take care of it; none of knew about Blue back then.” 

More left out. Theft and break-ins, and begging and threatening people for rides when the streets were clear enough. 

“But we finally made it back to the dock. I thought we were home free.” Tendo leaned forward, elbows on knees. Newt could see how the casual gesture with his hands covered up fingering his rosary. 

“The ferry didn’t come that day. Or the next, I think. There was so much smoke from fires that had just been left to burn that it blotted out the sun. There were hundreds of people there, and so little food and water. I thought that was it when my grandfather and so many others started getting really sick. None of us would have even begun to guess the real reason. And all that time we waited, Trespasser kept wandering around like a drunk, trashing three cities.”

This was always the hardest part for Tendo whenever it came up. Newt’s eyes stung, but he kept watching. He had to. Tendo’s voice shook and his head bowed. 

“We got news from newcomers, and somebody had a battery operated radio. When we heard about the nuclear warheads, we were all relieved. We actually cheered that nukes were going to be dropped less than one hundred miles away from us. That’s how desperate we all were for any kind of end. But the monster didn’t stop from the first, or the second, and ended up turning back towards us. My grandfather was shaking and coughing by then, barely conscious but trying to tell me things anyway. He passed when they fired the last nuke; we all saw the cloud, it was that close. Then when I looked back down, he was gone.” 

Tendo had his hands clasped, knuckles white, and apparently there was an audience, from the sympathetic sounds just off camera. The interviewer let the moment hang, but Tendo broke it.

“But there was good news. Shortly before the end, the ferry came back. The guys were making every run they could, and in between runs taking out a little electric motor dinghy to scavenge for more fuel. It got harder and harder, taking hours and even days for just a few gallons, but they kept it up. We crammed everyone there onto the ferry like sardines. There wasn’t even room to breathe but nobody complained, even if they were next to someone sick. We almost ran out of fuel on that last run, but we made it.” 

A breath, a pause, and Tendo straightened into a more relaxed pose. “And I don’t really want to answer more questions on what happened back then. It’s still, well...” 

The interviewer showered him with thanks and apologies as if those could repay Tendo for the pain of reliving those days. All the while the guy had a winning smile, and then asked if that was the reason Tendo had spearheaded the Cure the Blue Foundation and the push for a final cure. 

Tendo just laughed and shook his head. “It’s why I joined the PPDC, and why I used to always donate to causes like this, but it’s not the reason for Cure the Blue. A side reason, maybe, but not the main one.” 

The interviewer was eating it up, immediately asking for details. Newt felt sick, and got halfway to closing the video before Karla’s gloved hand grabbed his in a vice grip.

He turned the sick feeling into a hiss, or tried to. “You knew!” 

She shook her head. “No, not really. I mean, of course I know his reasons because I’ve been working with him on this since the beginning, but not what he’d say--”

Tendo had started to answer, but Newt didn’t catch what he was saying until Karla got quiet. 

“--was the first loved one of mine who contracted Blue, but it turns out, he wasn’t the last.” 

Shit. Newt didn’t want to hear this--he did, he did-- but Karla still had his hand trapped. Newt could almost feel the anticipation through the screen, like the interviewer and the audience were holding their collective breath, but Tendo didn’t elaborate. 

So, eventually the interviewer asked, “Is it a family member, then?” 

Tendo looked a little startled and stumbled over what he was saying for the first time. “Yes-- Well, technically no. It’s complicated. We...hadn’t made anything official yet, but all of this that’s happened to us has made me think and realize how much I care about him, no matter what.” 

Oh god, _Tendo_. Tendo really cared, _wanted_ , even after everything? Newt pressed his hand to his mouth, as the screen went a little blurry. Didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Karla... 

He heard the interviewer’s voice asking if he was Tendo’s boyfriend. His heart stuttered in a painful way at the word. 

It was hard to see Tendo’s face now through the blur, but his voice was soft and sad. “Not officially, yet, but I’m hoping.” 

Shit. Newt needed to-- He scrambled for his phone. Huh, when had Karla let go? He needed to tell Tendo--

As he tapped out and sent a text as furiously fast as he could, he dimly heard the interviewer ask if Newt was watching, and Tendo, sounding super uncomfortable, answer after a long pause that they’d had a fight and Tendo was giving him a little space for a while. 

There. Done. Now Tendo wouldn’t need to wait to know. 

“Sry sry saw itnerview sry 4 everythng 4give u. I just dont kno i want to b ur boyfriend. Sry im dying. Dont want to hurt u mor. Sry”

So maybe his spelling really, really sucked more than usual right now, but it needed to be done. Now Tendo knew why and-- Shit. He shouldn’t have sent that. He needed to-- To do what, exactly? Send another text taking it back? It was too late and this was exactly why he’d avoided reading Tendo’s emails. Newt knew himself, okay.

Karla’s voice intruded, and okay wow, was that his breathing, gasping so fast like that? What she was saying didn’t really help. 

“Don’t you realize you’re hurting him more by pushing him away? When someone you love is dying, you want to spend as much time as you can with them. If you care about him--” 

She-- She was probably right. Tendo really cared, and nothing was going to shake him from it. Newt didn’t know what to do with this. How was he supposed to react to someone really, truly caring _that_ much? How was he supposed to stand knowing that no matter _what_ he did, he was tearing Tendo apart?

“And you need to breathe, Newt.” 

Breathing sounded like a great idea. In. Out. In. Out. Innnn... Out... Okay. Okay. That was better. When Tendo got back to him--

Why was he hearing the custom ringtone that Tendo had just for him? Newt opened his eyes to see the Tendo on the screen suddenly pull out his phone, right in the middle of the interview, and start reading. Then he put his hand to his mouth, and those were definitely, probably, maybe tears. His phone chimed out the ringtone he had for texts and calls from Tendo, but Newt couldn’t look away as Tendo on the screen mumbled something that only the interviewer could hear and exited the stage, fast. 

“Why didn’t-- That was _live_?” Shit. Of course they’d have a delay. Shit. He’d just publicly embarrassed Tendo and he really needed to apologize--

He opened Tendo’s return text and... the world felt like it stopped. It couldn’t be. Oh no. 

“fuck u both” 

Newt fired up an apology and sent it as quickly as he could. Would Tendo believe he hadn’t known? How could Karla not have mentioned that important fact? Why did Tendo even have his ringer on during a live interview? 

His phone made a weird noise and a message popped up. “Intended recipient has blocked incoming messages from this number.” 

No, no. Newt turned to Karla. Seriously, why _hadn’t_ she said this was fucking live? He would have waited--thought better of it entirely--if he’d known. Why--

Karla’s voice was pure eyes with a disdainful edge. “Don’t you _dare_. I’m sick of being between you two. That’s why I did this. _You_ were the one who bullocksed this up from the beginning. I won’t hear it! Not another word about anything that isn’t related to our research.” 

Newt wasn’t going to let this go. How could she--

“I said _no_. You got what you wanted; shouldn’t you be _happy?_ ”

That hurt. That hurt so much. 

“Now.” She took a breath and glanced toward’s Hermann’s tank before clicking off the video abruptly. “We have your scans to complete, and then we’ll take the rest of the day off.” 

So she wouldn’t have to be near him any longer than necessary. She was right; he really had screwed this up royally. And there was no way to fix it. He probably shouldn’t. Damn. Fuck. Shit. 

Hermann had gotten himself down the ramps, and made an unsteady, half-hopping beeline over the floor and right to Newt. Newt swore Hermann knew how to tell when he was upset, somehow. Hermann always seemed to know, and the cheek rubs did feel good. 

Just not enough anymore. He’d really done it this time. 

Hermann made a distressed sound and awkwardly shifted to put an foreleg around him. His mastery of the hug was kind of lacking, but at least he was trying. Newt wanted to just call off the whole scan, but there was Hermann to consider. He let himself go with it for a moment and then straightened.

Karla had marched over the the scanner already, and Hermann followed his gaze to her. Newt wasn’t at all surprised that Hermann seemed to know and ambled over right away to crawl up onto it. He had an easier time than the first time, at least. And he even remembered how they’d arranged him last time. 

Newt felt proud, and that helped. Also shocked, because that... well, he already knew, didn’t he? Was Hermann average for his species, or was he some one-of-a-kind truly sentient genius? Newt wished he could ask. 

Maybe he could start trying to teach Hermann to talk? That could be interesting. It wouldn’t hurt, he thought, and the idea made him feel warm inside as he tried to figure out how to do it.. 

...Until he saw the scan results. Hermann was... Shit. Hermann had a _lot_ more lesions, especially in his gills, and in the small and delicate veins and arteries around them. Shit. That was bad. Super bad. 

Newt had to give Hermann a hug, and Hermann seemed to understand, looking at the scan and making mournful sounds. They held onto each other until Karla snapped at them, and was it Newt’s imagination, or did he see a flash of a snarl in Karla’s direction? 

Maybe it was her tone, or he was responding to Newt’s own ambivalent feelings toward her. There was no way to really know. 

But Hermann let Newt shoo him down onto the floor and then it was Newt’s turn. He had to fight not to bolt, feeling like-- like. A whole bunch of things. Time moved too fast and crawled all at once, and he didn’t feel up to dressing when Karla finalized the scan for viewing. 

He’d already definitely, permanently lost Tendo as a friend. For good. Forever. It wasn’t like things could get any worse. 

Hermann made a sound Newt hadn’t heard before, but it wasn’t hard to hear the upset in it. 

Newt finally looked up and--

There was a lot more blue, but he’d almost expected that. The lesion--lesions now--on his colon were worse than ever, and his appendix was definitely inflamed. 

There was a new lesion on his heart, right near the aortic arch. 

The Blue had gotten his heart; wasn’t that just perfect? Wasn’t that just so completely _perfect_ for how this day had turned out? 

Newt laughed, and probably cried, but it was so fucking _funny_. 

And Hermann was _definitely_ snarling at Karla, he realized vaguely. He should stop it, but his chest hurt and his abdomen was killing him and he couldn’t _breathe_ and--

And he should have known better than to even think that it couldn’t get any worse. 

This was so much worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Specimen!Hermann, for those interested, is kind of like an otter-fish creature with a few traits similar to other aquatic creatures. Cetaceans, sharks, a few deep-sea fishes... There will be more detailed descriptions later. Sightings of his species are meant to be the grain of truth behind certain legends and mythical creatures.


End file.
